The Department: Titan City
by The Mike Honcho
Summary: Dean Ambrose stars in a police saga. Titan City is rotting from the inside out. When a new, special unit is put together to combat crime in the city, what will become of Dean and his colleagues?
1. Prologue: Fuck that Tree

_Hi. I've been gone from FF for a long time. Actually, that's not entirely true. For the last 10 months I've been silently collaborating with another author here, and that author's enthusiasm has become contagious. I can't guarantee I'll update this daily or anything, but this was a story that came from a LOT of watching "SVU" at work and brainstorming. I hope you enjoy. Your views, reviews, favorites, and DM's will fuel this. Please hit me with your ideas. Oh, and some of the characters who have one name on WWE television will have two here. For example, "Elias" would be "Elias Samson." If you ever need clarification, please ask._

 _I don't own these characters. WWE does._

The Department. Prologue. "Fuck that Tree."

"It needs to either rain harder, or not rain at all," Dean Ambrose mumbled to his partner. "Because this drizzle is horseshit."

"Would you call it the 'drizzling shits'?" His partner replied, in a much more cheerful tone.

Dean glanced over to the gorgeous woman occupying the passenger seat of his police cruiser. "Yes, Naomi, I would."

The woman grinned at him, elbowing him playfully. "Cheer up, Ambrose. Our shift's almost over, it's been quiet, and it's almost Christmas."

"It's December third," Dean spat in return. "And Renee took all the Christmas shit after the divorce went final. Even the tree."

Naomi took a second to process this. "Even your tree?"

Dean nodded woefully. "Yeah, it was this badass fake tree that already had all the lights and shit on it. Gone."

"Wow, sounds like you really love that tree."

"Fuck that tree," Dean barked in response. "It just...it's finally sunk in that it's over, ya know?"

Naomi wasn't sure how she should react. She was in an awkward situation, having known both Dean and his ex wife Renee before everything went bad. On one hand, she'd heard Renee's side of the story many times, over post-work margaritas. It was almost entirely Dean's fault, seeing as how he'd become obsessed with his latest murder case, and trying to link it to a series of similar murders across Titan City. Yet Naomi felt overwhelming sympathy for her forlorn shiftmate. Being a cop was really tough on anyone who had a family. She herself was only able to make it work because her husband, Jimmy, had a large family that helped with things like childcare. Naomi had never even heard Dean mention family, so she assumed he was on his own.

She flashed Dean a sympathetic look, and placed her hand on Dean's, patting it platonically.

"You know you're always welcome at the Fatu house for Christmas." Naomi said.

Dean, in a rare moment of vulnerability, gave his partner a tight lipped smile. "Thanks, Naomi. I might take you up on that. What does Toa want for Christmas?"

Naomi couldn't hide her smile this time. "He's obsessed with toy cars. He loves matchbox. You don't have to get him anything, but if you do, Target has a five pack of race cars that I know he'd love."

"Target, matchbox, five pack," Dean repeated. "Copy that."

Naomi had a snappy response all ready to go, but she was cut off by the dispatch radio coming to life.

"All patrol, be advised, we have a possible 'two eleven' in progress at Saturn convenience store. Twelve eighty seven west Finlay street. That's in south Titan proper."

Dean shook his head. "Of fucking course it'd be right now, with two hours left on our shift. Fuck!" He let go of that last obscenity as though it were on fire, before reaching toward the radio receiver on his lapel. "Dispatch, this is seventy David, we are currently on South Finlay, should we respond? Over."

Dean made a face at Naomi, causing her to giggle. Despite his rough exterior, Naomi loved having Dean as a partner. She was already married when she'd met him at the academy, and as a result she'd been the only female on campus Dean hadn't tried to have sex with. In fact, Dean met his now ex wife at the academy. Though she'd been an aspiring district attorney, observing cadets go through their training as part of a required course for their certification. Naomi loved Dean, precisely because she hadn't ended up in his bed, and their partnership was the stronger for it.

The radio crackled to life again. "Seventy David, this is dispatch. Proceed to intercept. There are three David's en route to assist with response. Over."

Dean grinned. "David" was code for "squad car." Dean had no idea why, but that was how it had always been. "Seventy David" was the call sign for Naomi and him, and he took solace in knowing that other units would be waiting for him.

"Copy that. Seventy David on route."

"Light em up," he mused at his partner, who grinned and reached for a switch on the dashboard.

Their police cruiser roared to life with blue lights and loud sirens as Dean pulled out of the parking space they were occupying.

Several blocks later, Dean Ambrose and Naomi Knight Fatu swung their police cruiser into the small parking lot of the Saturn convenience store. Dean shook his head, taking a quick look at his surroundings. The recession had hit this area hard, and the once proud middle class area was rapidly declining into a wasteland of drug houses and other havens for petty crime.

"Damn," he muttered. This was the kind of call he dreaded. "Tweaked out meth heads knocking over gas stations and Kwik Marts for forty bucks cash and snacks are always the calls that get you shot."

Stepping out of his squad car, he gave his partner a humorless tight lipped smile and grabbed the small hand held device that allowed him to speak into his cars PA system.

"This is the Titan City police! We have the building surrounded!" That wasn't exactly true, as supporting squad cars were just right that second pulling into the parking lot, but they were close enough to make escape impossible. "Come out with your hands behind your head!"

From his vantage point, Dean could see a pair of figures moving around erratically through the interior of the convenience store. After a tense moment, the first of the figures eased cautiously through the front door. Dean watched intensely as two officers to his left vacated the cover of their squad car to subdue the first perpetrator, who'd come to a standstill and laced his fingers behind his head. The patrolmen quickly led the suspect back behind their police car, handcuffing him and stuffing him in the backseat. After another minute, a second "perp" came out of the store, his hands high. Dean, relieved to have both alleged robbers subdued, quickly walked out into the open parking lot to handcuff and Mirandize the second young man.

"Hands behind your head, kid!" He slowly grabbed one of the young man's arms, forcefully lowering the young criminal's hands behind his back, handcuffing him cautiously.

Continuing speaking, while still paying careful attention to any other threats that might be in the area.

"You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and wi-"

Dean's voice was cut off by a pair of loud POPs echoing through the night air. The young man in front of Dean, who now had his hands restrained behind his back, simply hit the ground, while the other on sight police officers scampered to cover behind their police cruisers. Naomi, seeing her partner hit the ground, called for an ambulance as two responding officers ran deftly toward where they believed the shots had come from. After locating and subduing the third, unknown participant, Naomi kneeled aside her partner, cradling his head and fighting back tears. For a minute, the officers surrounding Saturn convenience store waited anxiously for any sign of life from Dean Ambrose. After a second, the prone officer stirred, as all involved breathed a massive sigh of relief.

"Dean?" Naomi tried not to shout. "Dean, are you okay?"

Dean opened his eyes, slowly. "Fuck that tree," he muttered, before slipping again into unconsciousness...

* * *

Dean didn't remember the ambulance ride at all. He didn't remember being admitted to the emergency room or the small team of ER nurses and orderlies that gingerly removed his uniform shirt and now-ruined kevlar vest. The only thing Dean remembered was the twin "pop" sound, and hitting the pavement. As he awoke, however, he noticed that he was no longer anywhere near the aforementioned pavement, and that there were several sets of eyes on him. He immediately recognized his partner, whose worried face grew to relief when she saw his eyes open. He saw his shift captain, Paul Orndorff, with a sober but concerned look on his face, and several of the other officers on his shift. The face he was most interested in, however, was one he'd never seen before. A striking female face, with high cheekbones, piercing eyes, and surrounded by fiery red hair, was gazing down on the ragged Ambrose. As Dean continued to climb back into the realm of the living, he began to make out the words the redhead was trying to convey to him.

"...Can you 'ear me, Officer Ambrose? Officer Ambrose?"

Dean smiled, seeing clearly for the first time the stunning doctor who'd apparently been charged with his care.

"Hey Doc," he half mumbled, still not completely in control of his faculties. "Why can't I feel my legs?"

The doctor shook her head slightly and smiled. "The EMT's gave ya' a sedative. It made the ride o'er much less painful."

Dean raised the arm he could move up to his face. "Shit," he continued, "I am flyin'."

The radiant doctor patted him gently on the arm closest to her. "I'm glad. My name is Dr Lynch, and I'm head of trauma here at Rogers General."

Dean's eyes widened slightly. "Shit, I have trauma wounds?"

Dr Lynch smiled and chuckled again. "That's wha' we're tryin' to figure ou'. You were sho'. Twice. But it doesn't appear that either sho' penetrated your kevlar vest."

Dean grinned, his face a loopy, happy mess of sedated comfort. "Hell yeah."

Dr Lynch shook her head. "You're no' ou' a the woods yet, Ambrose. The bullets didn' get to ya, but t'e impact may have damaged an internal organ. I'd li'e to observe ya for a couple hours."

"Noooo," Dean mourned, his voice still slurring from the pain medication.

Dr Lynch, growing more concerned with Dean, looked around the room at Dean's colleagues. "Has anyone called his emergency contac'?"

Naomi chimed in, though she didn't look particularly happy. "He never updated his 'in case of emergency' after the divorce. When we called his ex-wife, all she said was 'I hope he died slowly' and then hung up."

Dean laughed. "Yeah, I'm divorced. I cheated on my wife with five twelve year old girls." He laughed harder, as though what he said had been the most natural thing in the world. Becky withdrew her hand from Dean's shoulder, her face frozen in horror, as the rest of the room tried not to burst out in laughter. Naomi cut him off, saving him from further embarrassment.

"It's not like he said. At all. He must be REALLY high. He caught a case. Five dead little girls. All twelve years old. He let it get too important. It consumed him. He neglected his wife, his friends, family, everything. Just trying to get a lead on that case. Eventually our Lieutenant took him off the case, but not before his wife left him. Said she didn't want to feel less important that some little girls he never met."

Dr Lynch made a face. "Tha' doesn't seem very fair. It also seems like a lo' of information."

Naomi smiled. "I didn't want you to think he was…"

Dr Lynch grinned and nodded. "I understand. Now." She turned to her disoriented patient. "Do ya have any questions for me?"

Dean smiled mischievously. "What's your first name?"

Dr Lynch smiled, trying not to blush. "Becky. My first name is Becky. Now, is t'ere anythin' I can do to make ya more comfortable, Officer?"

"You can call me Dean," he snickered, trying not to be obvious in his flirting. Before Becky could respond, Captain Ambrose cleared his throat.

"I think we should leave Dean alone, let him rest here tonight." He turned his stern gaze onto Dean. "Take a few days, Dean. A week or so, even. Don't come back to work until you're not sore anymore."

Dean gave his captain an exaggerated thumbs up. "Will do, Cap." With that, his squadmates and captain filed out or Dean's exam room. Becky, however, stuck around another minute, hoping that she could glean a bit more about his frame of mind if she had the chance to talk to him alone.

As soon as the door closed, Becky turned her attention back to Dean, who'd reclined back on the bed, trying to get a bit more comfortable.

"Do ya have any more questions for me, Officer Ambrose?"

"Dean!" He admonished, though it sounded comical in his foggy state.

"Dean," Becky corrected herself, attempting to make the injured young man happy. "Is t'ere anythin' else I can do for ya?"

Dean grinned again. "Are you single?"

Becky rolled her eyes and swatted Dean lightly on his uninjured arm, though she fought desperately to supress her urge to blush.

"I don' date patients, Dean. Why don' we talk again when yer on yer fee'?" She hoped that would cull his advances for now, but if she were being honest with herself, she could do a lot worse. She'd liked how he was built from the moment she'd laid eyes on him, lying prone, his uniform shirt and bulletproof vest cut off. He'd ended up in his blue police issue pants and a knit undershirt, leaving his arms, shoulders, and parts of his chest exposed. "No' bad" had been her first impression. She knew getting involved with a patient, let alone a cop patient, was a bad idea. But Dean Ambrose was, in her opinion, an impressive physical specimen. She was snapped back to reality by Dean's response.

"I'm not a hundred percent sure I'll remember this conversation, but if I do, you can bet on it, pretty lady."

Becky tried to keep a straight face. "T'at's 'Doctor Pre'y Lady' to you, Officer Ambrose." Allowing herself one genuine, toothy grin, she reached over to Dean's IV bag and fiddled with it briefly. "T'ere's some more sedative for ya. Get some res'. We'll do an MRI tomorrow when t'e swellin' is down. If ya check ou' t'ere, ya can go 'ome. Soun' good?"

Dean nodded, the effect of the painkillers beginning to overtake him. "Yeah, Dr Becky, that sounds great…." That was all he managed to get out before succumbing to the soothing, overwhelming effects of whatever magic concoction was currently coursing through his system. All at once, his eyes closed, and he slipped back into the pharmaceutically-enhanced dreamland that had been beckoning him for a while…

* * *

Dean Ambrose hadn't had anything seriously wrong with him. The MRI, performed carefully by staff at Rogers General Hospital, revealed no serious damage to Dean's internal organs. But the recovery was taking longer than he thought. The first shot had hit the intrepid Ambrose almost exactly in the center of the chest, which was great, in that his kevlar was strong there. The second shot, however, hit him on the shoulder, on his AC joint, where his collarbone and arm met. His armor had been weaker there, and as a result his bruise had been deeper and his time convalescing longer. It'd taken him almost two weeks to be able to lift his arm on that side over his head, and as a consequence, Dean still wasn't back on the job. Christmas was almost upon Titan City, the streets laden with snow and smiles permanently etched across the face of the more "well to do" citizens, and tonight was Dean's precinct's office Christmas Party. He really didn't want to attend, but Naomi had begged him to be her date. Her husband had taken Toa to see their grandparents for the weekend and wouldn't be back until Christmas Eve, between nine and ten pm. Dean, ever the ladies' man, jokingly tried to convince the voluptuous patrol officer that she had a "hall pass" for the weekend.

"I'm serious, Hey, we could 'get it on' all weekend and Jimmy would never know."

Naomi shook her head. Dean was kidding. She knew he was kidding, and yet her heart still skipped a beat. Dean was exactly the kind of guy she'd have gone for before she'd gotten pregnant with Toa. Jimmy had proposed the weekend they found out, and she was super happy with every aspect of her personal life, but there was a small part of her, like a three percent part of her, who screamed in her consciousness; "take him up on his offer! He's hot! Jimmy won the lottery getting you pregnant. Maybe you should 'play the lottery' too!"

Instead of doing any of that, however, Naomi just smacked Dean on the thigh, hard enough to let him know she was serious.

"No way, Dean. I'm a married woman. And even if I weren't, aren't you talking to the doctor that patched you up after you got shot?"

Dean snickered. "What she doesn't know won't hurt her."

Naomi, for the first time legitimately concerned over her partner's behavior, shifted the car into "park" and slid her hand over Dean's.

"Look, Ambrose, we've been through this. If I hadn't married Jimmy when I did, you and I would one hundred percent be a thing right now. But I did. So please don't even joke about me cheating on my husband. We have a little boy and-"

Dean raised his free hand to stop his partner. "I get it, Nay, relax. I was just fucking around. I mean, your body is out of this world, but I respect marriage, especially one like yours. Give me more credit than that." He chuckled, then continued. "Yeah, I'm texting with Becky. She keeps giving me the 'I dunno, maybe,' though, so if one of these single chicks at the party wants to get 'Ambrose'd,' who am I to argue with them?"

Naomi rolled her eyes, pulled her hand away from Dean's and pulled her car door open, though she didn't get out. "Just come inside. Maybe 'Ms. Right' will be in there."

Dean chortled, unable to believe his ears. "I'd settle for 'Ms. Right Now.'"

* * *

It really was a good party. Captain Orndorff had been the host for the last several years, but he'd graciously agreed to step aside and let the party get taken up a notch. This year, the party was at a local dive bar named "Anvil's." The longstanding bar was a favorite of law enforcement around Titan City, and happened to be very near the precinct Dean and Naomi were presently based out of.

The beer flowed freely. Orndorff saw to that. The officers played pool and darts and sang ridiculous drinking songs and Christmas carols. Everyone was happy. Finally, around ten thirty pm, Ray Traylor, Captain Orndorff's second in command, called all the attendees to gather around the bar area.

"Listen up, people! We need to congratulate one of our own!" Most, if not all, of the attendees were puzzled by the large officer's statement. "Dean Ambrose, get up here!"

Though he was clearly drunk, and presently trying to talk the brunette server who'd been waiting on him all night to go home with him, Dean had enough presence of mind to understand that his presence was requested next to Ray Traylor, and Traylor was not a man to be kept waiting. He made his way through the mass of humanity surrounding Traylor, then slid next to the giant man.

"What's up, Ray?"

Traylor grinned at him. "Dean, as of January first, you no longer investigate gas station robberies." Seeing the puzzled look on Dean's face, Traylor smiled and continued. "The Commissioner is putting together a 'Major Crimes' unit, and you've been chosen as one of the inaugural hires for that task force!" Traylor was proud of Dean. They'd worked hard to make him a viable police officer, and any promotion he achieved would look good on their entire precinct. He inhaled deeply, glanced at Dean, and smiled. "Y'all give it up for Dean!"

As the crowded bar cheered loudly for their compatriot, Captain Orndorff glanced over at Naomi, who was standing next to him, her nervousness for Dean too much for her to bear.

"He won't be back, Naomi. He's a fantastic officer. He'll kick ass at Major Crimes."

Naomi smiled back at him, though her heart was heavy for losing the only partner she'd ever had.

"I hope you're right, Captain."

With that, the two officers began slowly making their way to the center of the mass of humanity, hoping to give their congratulations to Dean. If they'd know, however, what Titan City would be in store for for the next two years, they might not have smiled, and Dean might not have taken the new assignment….

 **COMING SOON: "The Department."**

 _Like I said at the top; I hope y'all enjoy. There will be both "one off" stories and an overarching storyline with a beginning and end. Let me know what you think._


	2. Chapter 2: You Wanna Do What?

_Thanks for the love. Chapter One was pretty well received. There is one correction: at one point, I refer to a "Captain Ambrose." That was a freudian slip. It was supposed to say "Captain Orndorff."_

 _As always, reviews are appreciated. Also, to encourage reviewing, I'll leave one potential member of the "Major Crimes" squad up to a vote. Would you like;_

 _a. ) Chris Jericho_

 _b.) Emma_

 _c.) Goldust (Dustin Runnels)_

 _Leave a review and vote!_

Chapter 2: "You wanna do what?"

"Are you fucking kidding me?" Dean gave an incredulous look to the men sitting across the table from him. And this particular table at Lanza's Steakhouse was pretty crowded. At the moment, he was staring directly at Lieutenant Mick Foley and Deputy Police Commissioner Ron Simmons. "Why the fuck would you want me to do that?"

Foley, being the only person at the table who'd actually met Ambrose before tonight, chuckled, shrugged, and took a long drink of the cocktail in front of him. "Dean, I've had my eye on you for a while. When Mayor McMahon and the Commissioner told Ron and I to put this together, your name was at the top of my list. Despite your many…" Mick paused, trying to find the right word…"Idiosyncrasies, you're a fantastic cop with an almost unheard of closure rate. Ninety four percent? That'd be grounds for a promotion if-"

Dean cut him off. "If I hadn't punched out my former captain for taking me off the multiple homicide thing?"

Foley nodded again. "Yeah, that. You're lucky that captain ended up being dirty. Otherwise, you'd probably have lost your badge over that."

Ambrose shrugged and snickered. "If you guys knew the half of what I get away wi-"

Now it was Simmons' turn to butt in. "Is there something you want to disclose?"

Ambrose backed off, having remembered that these men didn't know him the way the cops at his old unit had. "Sorry, I was making a joke. I keep forgetting that you guys aren't familiar with my particular brand of hyjinx."

Foley suppressed another laugh by taking another sip from his highball glass. "That's okay, Dean, one of the reasons we picked you for this is your unique perspective on Titan City and it's problems."

"You want my opinion on Titan City? It's a shithole filled with people who can't leave or are dumb enough to stay."

"And which one are you, Ambrose?" Foley gave a half smile, anxiously awaiting Ambrose's response.

"Little of column 'A'..." He trailed off as the three men around the table shared a chuckle.

"Anyways, Dean," Foley continued, his mind back on his job. "We want you to help put together this unit. We, as a department, have a credibility issue."

Dean snickered knowingly. "That's a really nice way to say 'there's dirty cops in every precinct in this city.'"

Foley shrugged, but not because he didn't agree with Dean. "You said it, Ambrose, not me. You have a good record as a cop. No indication of being bought off or compromised in any way."

Dean nodded, grateful for the acknowledgement from Foley. "Yeah, I don't have a lot going for me, but I cannot be bought. Fuck that. If I were a dirty cop, I'd just quit. I've known guys I thought were on the take, and they still get shot at. There's no fuckin' point."

Foley kept the bemused smirk on his face. "That's why you stood out to us. You've got several 'dings' on your file, but you also have several commendations. You're good, but not too by the book. We're gonna need a lot of that attitude with this new approach we're gonna try."

"New approach?" Dean's interest was piqued now.

"Yeah, Major Crimes isn't gonna deal with policing street level offenses. We can do that for years and not make a dent in the real problem."

Dean scoffed. "And what do YOU think the real problem is?"

Foley grinned, picking up on Dean's inference. "Organized crime. Every street gang, pimp, hustler, drug dealer...they all have a bigger fish supplying them. Calling the shots. We lock up a 'corner boy' slinging meth, the guys at the top find three dropouts willing to take their place. We cannot start healing this city until the scumbags up the ladder go away. One way or another. We want Major Crimes to take the intel we gather from street level arrests and go after the 'go betweens.' The mid level guys that keep the top of the chain clean. Get them out of circulation and maybe we can consider going after the heads of the families."

Dean nodded. "I agree. I was just testing you."

Foley laughed again, before signalling to their waitress that they needed another round. Dean glanced over at the buxom girl, who smiled and winked at him in response. Finding his train of thought, Dean re-focused on his conversation. "And you want my help putting this 'Justice League' together?"

Simmons piped up for the first time. "You're the perfect choice, man. You grew up here. You have no connections to organized crime that we can find. You're good police, Dean. You put in for a promotion four times. We're offering you a promotion, a healthy pay raise, and a chance to do some real good."

Dean laughed. "Go all 'Gunsmoke' on Titan City?" He shrugged, shook his head slowly, and glanced again at their voluptuous server, who was dropping off libations for the entire table. He turned his head fully towards her. "Thanks, darlin'."

She gave him a giant smile in return, briefly rubbing his shoulder. "No problem, hon'." She winked at Lieutenant Foley, then traipsed away, though she didn't stray far from their table. Dean thought that was odd, as they'd ordered steaks a bit ago, and Dean was getting very hungry. The appetizers they'd requested had been devoured almost as soon as they hit the table, and that'd been about twenty minutes ago. After a minute, Dean remembered that he'd been in the middle of his answer to Ron Simmons' question.

"Man, I'm not sure. I come in here and you tell me order whatever I want, then you tell me your plan, and I'm sittin' here thinking 'you want me to do what?'." He paused as Simmons and Foley both gave a small chuckle. Ambrose shook his head, then took a long hit on his fresh beer. "Titan City's a shitty place. Cops work too hard, dig too deep here? They end up in the bay. I'm gonna have to think about it."

Foley rolled his eyes. "We have to get this unit going. Soon. You want to take a day? Take a day. Any longer than that, we move on to our second choice." Foley looked like he had more to say, but their food arrived at that moment. The beautiful blonde waitress led two other servers out to the table, where they each placed a decadent platter in front of one of the table's occupants. Before she could leave, however, Foley nodded at her and grabbed her softly by the arm.

"Before you decide, I want to introduce you to someone." The server grinned wider and waved at him, wiggling her fingers. "This is Sargeant Dana Brooke. She's your first hire. She specializes in what?" He looked up at the blonde, releasing her hold on her.

"Undercover operations," she spilled, before smiling again.

Dean gave Foley a look that signified that he was impressed. "Ok, I need a day to get my shit in order. I'm not saying 'yes,' but if I did, what's the staffing look like?"

Foley gave Dean a look as he began to cut his steak. "The mayor is beyond serious about this initiative. He's giving us funds like we've never had. I'm going to be your head administrator. You, me, and Dana here will be doing the interviews. Unless I have to find someone else."

Dean pondered this for a moment, before taking a bite of steak and washing it down with another long swig of his beer. "I'll take the day. Write my name in pencil as a 'yes.' In pencil. I might still change my mind."

Lieutenant Foley smirked, but nodded his head at Ambrose and extended his hand. "Good to have you on board, Ambrose."

Dean deadpanned, but did shake Foley's hand. "I might still say 'no.'"

With that, the three men, along with the now off-duty Dana Brooke, resumed their chatter about future plans and the food they were currently consuming...

* * *

Dean took the day. He knew he was going to accept the position, but he still took the full day. Partially because he just liked antagonizing people, but also partially because he wanted to make sure all angles were considered before making such a life altering choice.

He'd tried to talk the undercover agent he'd met the night before into going home with him. She'd been no more than cordial at first, but Dean won her over with a line about how she should've been jailed for "keeping her fantastic rack as undercover as the rest of her," and they'd done shots together after their superiors left for the night, but cooler heads eventually prevailed. They were going to be working closely together for the next few weeks, and while both officers found the other attractive, they agreed that it was for the best that they not sleep together. At the end of the night, however, a somewhat inebriated Dana did give Dean a hug that bordered on "unprofessional," and a kiss that was intended for his cheek, but landed halfway between his cheekbone and mouth. Dana giggled, then pulled her head back, while maintaining her embrace, then let out a sigh and muttered "maybe one day." The two exchanged numbers, then went along their separate ways, each needing the rest before embarking on this perilous task.

His "day of reflection" actually began with a level of body fatigue that wasn't quite full on "hung over," but he didn't feel a hundred percent, either. As Dean got further from thirty, he felt every wild night out a bit more profoundly than he had as a "twenty-something." Still, even during his time off, he had things he'd had to do. There was less than a week before Christmas, and he hadn't bought Toa Fatu a gift. He also knew at some point he needed to start putting his own list of potential "Major Crimes" officer candidates. But all of that could wait until after he'd had his breakfast and gotten a good workout in.

His egg whites and oatmeal had gone down a little less amicably than normal, mostly because of the drinking, and Dean felt every ounce of alcohol he'd taken in the night before as he stretched in his driveway. His normal routine was a jog to his local gym, followed by an hour or so training, then jogging either home or to Anvil's, the local watering hole that hosted most of Dean's drunken escapades.

As he began his well-paced run to Haku's, the aforementioned gym, It occurred to Dean how lucky he was to be able to jog anywhere. West Titan city was among the safest boroughs in the city, mostly because of increased police presence and housing that was affordable and comfortable without being opulent. Most burglaries and break ins in Titan City were an attempt to steal either cash or drugs, and the homes in west Titan City didn't have the appearance of having either to the naked eye.

Dean turned the corner from Moxley street, where his house was located, and out onto eighth street. He could see the old neon sign that still read "Haku's boxing and fitness" from three blocks away.

Trimming the distance with every stride, Dean spent the remaining duration of his warm up jog trying not to let thoughts of the insanely gorgeous red headed doctor he'd met several days earlier take over his entire brain. She'd played her interactions with him perfectly since he'd been released from her care at Rogers General, always expressing interest but being coy about a future meetup. She'd left her number on the bottom of his discharge form at the hospital, and they were texting regularly, but Becky seemed cautious to pursue an actual date until she was satisfied with all the answers to the questions she was subtlely asking him.

Dean made good time to the gym. Really good time. It was below freezing every day in Titan City in December, yet the intrepid Ambrose made it to his gym in less than twenty minutes. He greeted Haku upon his arrival. "He's the toughest motherfucker I've ever met," Dean mused to himself. And Haku really was. Dean had heard stories of who Haku Uliuli Fifita was before he'd bought the gym. According to Urban legend, he'd once pulled a policeman's eye out of socket with his bare hands, and spiked it like a football player scoring a touchdown before backup showed up. That had been a very long time ago, but the rumors were still whispered.

Dean gave a fist bump to the giant man, then headed toward his locker. He'd asked for locker '6969' a thousand times, but he was still stuck somewhere in the four hundreds. Most of the members of Haku's gym took two to four classes a week, even though 'classes' were a fairly new thing for Haku and his establishment. Dean even attended Muay Thai and Krav Maga classes there. For the moment, however, once Dean checked in and gotten his hands wrapped by the cute girl working the front desk, his eyes were focused on the stunning redhead that was currently working over one of the heavy bags on the gym's main floor.

"'Doctor pretty lady'?" Dean asked, walking toward the subject of his inquiries.

The pretty woman flicked her head over her right shoulder. "Officer Dean? Fancy meetin' ya 'ere."

Dean grinned. He was a VIP at Haku's gym, but he'd never he'd a heavy bag for a rival member before, no matter how gorgeous she was. Becky Lynch threw several low punches to the heavy bag she was working while Dean fast talked her.

Dean smirked again. "I'm here to kick some ass. I've been a member here for a while. You?" As he intimated this, he slinked his arms around the bag Becky was using to get her workout in.

"T'ey tol' me t'is was the place ta' join," Becky retorted. "I was in t'e Irish women's counsel back home, resistin' British rule. I was a medic so I could pay muh way t'rough medical school."

Dean laughed again. "You're a tough chick. Makes me think I want to get to know you better."

Now it was Becky's turn to laugh. The breathtaking redhead threw a left hook at the bag Dean was holding.

"I dunno, Dean…" Becky trailed off. "Y'er a beautiful boy. Y'er exactly who I was lookin' for when I first got ta' Titan City. Bu' I heard a lotta shite abou' ya when I talked ta the nurses on ma shift."

Dean grimaced. "Yeah, I'm a real piece of shit. I fucked pretty much every girl on my shift, but that was a long time ago."

Becky pecked him lightly on the lips before resuming her fight stance from earlier. "I know y'er trouble. But," she paused, letting Dean throw a few combination punches. "Them nurses are all on y'er ex-wife's side."

Becky grinned. She thought Dean was extremely attractive, but she wasn't just going to telegraph what she wanted from the gorgeous young man,

"Just don't stone me out. Let's go get a drink when we're done here. Anvil's is like two blocks from here. Go get a beer with me. Okay?"

Doctor Becky Lynch wasn't sure what to do. All the nurses on her shift at Rogers General said pretty much the same thing; Dean Ambrose was the definition of "trouble." But, on the other hand, he was super handsome, and a little on the "scruffy" side. And Becky was incredibly attracted to "bad boys." It'd been that way since she was a young teenager in the streets of Belfast. "Fuck," she mused internally. Dean was by far the most enticing man she'd met since she'd moved across the Atlantic to Titan City. He was gruff, somewhat untrustworthy, and clearly unkempt, but he was every bit the "rugged American" she'd signed up for when watching TV in her safe haven of Ireland.

The heart-stealing man smiled at her again while unleashing a combination on the heavy bag she was in front of. "Look, it's 'dollar pitchers' at Anvil's. Wanna get a pitcher when you're done?"

"We can ge' some beers, but don' be surprised when I drink ya under the table," the well-toned redhead responded.

Dean grinned. "Ok. Finish your workout and we'll get goin'."

Becky gave him her flirtiest of playful smirks. "I don' t'ink so, Ambrose. I'm goin' 'ome ta change. Ge' presen'able. I'll mee' ya t'ere at seven. Li'e a proper date."

Ambrose couldn't hide his excitement now. "A proper date, eh?"

Becky nodded. "Aye. I'm a doctor, not t'e type girl who jus' goes for beer in 'er workout clothes."

"You'd look great in anything," Ambrose thought. Outwardly, he nodded, betraying none of the excitement he was feeling inside. "Seven. Should I pick you up?"

Becky shook her head. "I go' ma bike. Probably bea' ya t'ere." With that, and a laugh from each of them, the two parted ways to finish their workouts, each hoping the other couldn't tell how pleased they were with this development...


	3. Chapter 3: Oedipal Shite

_Thanks for all the love. I don't know why the "peck on the lips" line is still in there. I've tried to change it 3 times. There was a section I decided to delete that would've made it make sense. Just...block it out of your minds I guess. I guess it's true what they say: "Write drunk, edit sober." In my case, it's "write drunk, don't forget to edit." Y'all are the best. Speaking of editing, I could use an editor. My primary editor is a smashing success here and doesn't have the time necessary for me. If anyone with a gmail account has some extra time and wants to help out, I'm all ears._

Chapter 3: Oedipal shite.

As it turned out, Dean did beat Becky to Anvil's for their date. He insured this by arriving at six fifty five, rather than the appointed seven. The young man hadn't been on a date in a long time, not a real one, and this particular redheaded physician with impeccable bone structure piqued his curiosity like no female ever had. He'd just greeted the doorman, letting him know to make sure Becky got in okay. The large, tattooed hercules gave Dean a nod, which Dean responded to with a "Hey, Tyson."

Dean shook off the cold as he entered the run-down old pub. A staple of West Titan for the last thirty years, Anvil's was the culmination of a longtime dream of it's owner and founder, Jim "The Anvil" Neidhart. Jim spent 25 years as a street cop in Titan, working downtown. The day he retired, he laid down every bit of what he'd saved over his career to buy a failing bar not far from where he'd grown up. He worked it, his daughters worked it when they were old enough, and he'd turned it into a profitable business. He'd done so mostly by offering insanely low prices on beer and fried foods, counting on volume to make up for low markups. It was somewhat counterintuitive in the restaurant business, but it had worked for Neidhart.

None of that mattered to Dean at that moment. It was now 7:01 pm, and Becky was late. Ambrose tried not to panic. The last he'd heard from her was a text around four pm saying how excited she was to hang out with him, but a lot could change in three hours. Dean tapped his fingers on the worn wooden table, signaling to one of the servers he recognized that he wanted a pitcher of his "usual." She grinned and winked, acknowledging his order, but her face turned to surprise when he held up two fingers, indicating that he wanted one more glass than normal.

Dean ended up worrying for nothing. At almost exactly 7:04 PM, the front door to Anvil's opened and the alluring form of Doctor Becky Lynch sauntered confidently toward Dean. "Holy shit," Dean muttered to himself. And it was deserved. If four extra minutes were all it took for Becky to look like she currently did, Dean was prepared to extend her even more grace regarding arrival time in the future. She strode toward him, clad in tight faded black jeans and leather jacket. She shrugged the outer garment off, revealing a dark green tank top. Her hair was curly, but not in the obnoxious way some girls do. Instead, she allowed her hair to simply cascade around her face in gentle crimson waves. She was wearing makeup, but not so much that it distracted from her natural, God-given beauty. As she drew closer to Dean, she smiled, revealing her perfect white teeth once again.

"'Ey, boyo," she greeted Dean, her voice betraying her inner warmth.

Dean rose from his barstool, pulled back from his high top table, and smiled at his date, taking her in from head to toe. She extended her arms for a hug, and Dean happily obliged.

"I'm glad you made it, 'Doctor pretty lady.'"

She chuckled and shook her head, breaking the embrace. "Ya know ya can jus' call me Becky, yeah?"

Dean nodded. "I know, but I kinda like your nickname more." The two broke their embrace and were immediately joined by their server, who placed a pitcher of beer and two glasses on their table. She smiled at them, and not just out of obligation.

"Will there be anything else?" She asked the pair of occupants.

"You want a shot or mixed drink?" Dean asked, an anxious, compliant look on his face.

"Aye," Becky nodded. "I'll take a whiskey diet cola and twelve medium wings, if ya don' mind." She was facing the brunette young waitress, but Dean got the feeling that question was directed at him as much as anyone else. The young man chuckled.

"Girl knows what she wants. I'll take a whiskey and sour. Make it a double. Tall. Double tall whiskey sour and twelve 'scorcher.'"

Their server grinned, having just quadrupled her ticket price. "Absolutely. You want a side of fries or anything?"

Dean raised his eyebrows at Becky, who nodded. "Yeh. A side a' fries sounds tasty. Thank ya, dear." She grinned at their excited young waitress, who nodded and hurriedly whisked herself away to take care of her guests.

"So," Becky began again, re-focusing on Dean. "How's yer arm?"

Dean snickered. His bruises were still expansive, and it hurt him to move in certain ways, but the kevlar had done its job, and as a result Dean was dealing with discomfort, rather than bullet holes in places that could've ended his career, if not his life.

"It's good," he replied, rotating his shoulder slowly, as if to demonstrate his health. "You people do good work."

Becky smiled. "Good ta' hear."

Over the next few minutes, Dean learned a lot about his new potential love interest. She'd grown up in Belfast, with her mother introducing her to resistance early. She'd come to Titan City only eight weeks prior, when she'd been offered and accepted the position of "head trauma surgeon" at Rogers General. She enjoyed ultimate fighting, American football, baseball, and grunge music. As their mixed drinks arrived, however, their conversation turned to Dean, and what a guy like him was doing in Titan City.

"So," Becky redirected, stopping to sip her mixed drink, "tell me abou' Dean. How ya became who ya are."

Dean sighed deeply. "Yeah. Well, I was born here. Raised here. My mom beat a drug addiction. I grew up in a decent part of town. Good schools. Went to church. When I was twenty one my mom was accidentally shot in a drive by. She was walking home from the corner store. They never caught the scumbags that did it. After that, becoming a cop seemed like the logical thing to do."

As he told the story, Dean could see the empathy growing in Becky's brown eyes. At one point, she slid her hand over his as he told the story in more detail than Becky probably needed. When he finished, Becky drew a deep breath and pouted briefly.

"Dean, I am so sorry ya had ta deal wit' all that while ya were still young. That had ta be hard."

Dean snickered. "Yeah, I mean, it wasn't ideal, but I had several good years with mom while she was clean. We had a good time. I do wonder if losing her when I did made me marry Renee when I wouldn't have otherwise."

Becky nodded. "Renee is yer ex?"

Dean let a single laugh go. "I guess the nurses on your shift really did tell you everything. Yeah, we got married not too long after we met. Less than a year, in fact." Becky nodded as he paused to take a long pull from his glass of beer. "It was great at first, then I caught that case." Becky nodded again, more intently than she had all night.

"The one wit' the dead li'l girls?"

Dean shook his head in the affirmative. "Yeah. I can't actually even prove that they're dead. We never found any bodies. But they disappeared. I mean they were fucking gone. I only ever had one real lead, and that dissipated pretty quick."

"Ya ever hear from anyone else over them girls?"

Dean slowly lowered his head. "No. Once the trail went cold, that was it. I couldn't find anyone to say anything."

Becky's face betrayed her train of thought. "Holy shite, Dean. Ya had to deal wit' a lo'. And Renee didn' want ta be a par' of it?"

Dean shook his head again, causing his hair to wave. "Nah. She felt neglected. And I really don't blame her. I spent a TON of time on that case. Like a TON. I stayed at the precinct for sixty straight hours once making calls. I lived on catnaps in the squad room and peanut m&m's from the vending machine."

"Wow. Yeah, t'at's a lo'," Becky affirmed. As much as her brain was questioning whether or not dating a cop would be good for her own mental health, she couldn't help but be taken in by the manic intensity behind Dean's eyes. She was also really taken in by his seemingly relentless passion for justice. She caught his eyes with hers, and patted the top of his calloused hands with her, her elegant fingers running lightly over his knuckles.

"Do ya have hobbies? A way ta blow off all tha' anger?"

Dean shrugged and raised his beer glass.

"You're lookin' at it, really. I'm at work, here, at the gym, or asleep."

Becky scoffed lightly. "Bullshite. The girls a' the hospi'al say yer ou' tryin' ta ge' girls ta go home wit' ya all the time. Wha' abou' tha'?"

"I believe that's covered under 'sleeping'," Dean mused." By the way, your accent gets much more pronounced when you've been drinking."

Becky returned a deep, sincere grin and chuckle. "Aye. I've heard tha' before."

The two kept up their small talk for a bit, and their food was delivered shortly after. When they'd spent a few moments in content silence, both of them immensely enjoying their food, Dean worked up the nerve to ask the question the question that had been circling his mind since they'd begun their conversation.

"How about you?" Dean asked, doing his best to sound interested without appearing to pry.

"Wha?" Becky questioned, her focus having been pulled from her dinner.

"Was there ever anyone special for Dr. Becky Lynch?"

Becky snickered, almost sadly, and took a sip of her beer, before refilling both Deans and her own glass. She nodded, the wistful look still on her face.

"T'ere was only two real ones. My high school boyfriend was named Sheamus. We grew up in Belfas' toget'er. We was jus' friends until tenth grade, when he asked me to the movies. No' long after, we was makin' ou' in the back o' me mum's car. That was a big deal."

"Why was that?" Dean asked, his face a mask of rapt attention.

"Mum never wanted me ta date. My dad lef' when I was li'l and she tol' me every man was all the same."

Dean chuckled and nodded his head. "We really are."

Becky rolled her eyes, but couldn't hide the smile from curling her lips. And, in Dean's opinion, any reason to steal a glimpse of her lips was a good one. She continued her story, trying not to let on that she could tell Dean was staring at her intently.

"She forbade me to see 'im, which jus' made me wan' to more. We did all the 'high school swee'heart stuff. Then he wen' ta university and I never saw 'im again."

Dean shook his head. "Fuck that guy," he asserted. Becky made no attempt to hide her laugh this time, and used the sudden movement to brush her hand on Dean's again.

"That's wha' mah mum said, too. She asked me if I'd learned me lesson wit' boys yet. And for a while, I had."

Dean nodded his head knowingly. "Until boy number two?"

Becky nodded, the look in her eyes growing in distance as she recollected. "Aye. Finn Balor. We was in med school together. He was the most gorgeous man I'd ever seen, and 'e treated me like a princess."

Dean urged her in verbally. "And then what happened?"

Becky took a long drink of her beer, emptying her glass, and poured what was left in the pitcher into her no longer frosty mug. "I caugh' him bangin' our ana'omy professor."

Dean waited for more detail before finally relenting and asking his pressing question. "Was your professor like, a guy or something? I know him cheating on you is shitty enough, but the look on your face makes it seem like you saw him shoot a puppy or something."

The conversation paused long enough for Dean to signal to their server that they wanted a second pitcher of beer. After the young woman received his nonverbal cues, Dean turned his undivided attention back to the auburn haired beauty in front of him. Becky paused, still hesitant to tell him everything.

"No, it was a 'she,' bu' she was old enough ta be his mum." Dean made a face as Becky nodded. The fresh pitcher of lager, along with two fresh glasses, landed on their table. She continued as Dean poured beer in their respective cups.

"Yeah. A' first, he tol' me he was only doin' it ta help his grade." She chuckled. "I was jealous she wasn' inta girls when I heard tha'. I needed help wit' mah grades, too. I was even willin' ta forgive 'im." She cringed as she prepared to tell the next part. "Then I read his texts. It was some weird Oedipal shite. He was callin' her 'mum' and she sai' he was 'er 'good li'l boy.' It was fucked."

Dean had turned a full shade paler during the story, his stomach churning in disgust from this new revelation. "That is fucked. I mean, not the older woman part. I went through a bit of a 'cougar' phase myself." He chuckled as Becky hid her head in her hands. "The part where he's playing 'the good son.' That shit is...gross."

"Aye," Becky nodded. "He tried ta tell me he ha' a sex addiction, bu' it was too la'e. I moved ou' tha' day. Me mum was a' the door, wit' a look tha' said 'I tol' ya so' right on 'er face. That was the las' serious one. Since then i's been jus' a few casual t'ings here an' t'ere. Nothin' since I moved 'ere."

With that last revelation, Dean was the one who couldn't hold in his smile. "No dates since you've been in Titan City? Good. All the guys here are scumbags."

Becky grinned, turning her head sideways playfully at Dean. In spite of herself, she found his unorthodox manner extremely attractive. It was though Dean was physically incapable of taking anything more seriously than was absolutely necessary, and Becky got enough seriousness in her life saving lives all day at the hospital. Spending her evenings with a man as irreverent as Dean was an appealing notion to Becky, who loved to laugh in spite of the severity of the decisions she made at work every day. She slid her hand onto Dean's again, winking at him when he looked up at her, unsure of the message she was sending. She smiled, showing Dean that grin he was growing so fond of. After another moment of small talk, Dean's phone, which he'd meant to turn on "silent" before beginning his date with this latest entry into his personal life, but had forgotten immediately on laying eyes on his date, went off, and he was paying the price now.

"Fuck," he spat to himself.

"Wha'?" Becky asked, her interest in high gear. Dean shook his head in response. "I have to do some interviews tomorrow. December 22nd and we have to go to work. Can you believe that?"

Becky smiled again and rolled her eyes. "I pulled a bulle' ou' of a senior citizen on Christmas Day las' year," she asserted, letting Dean know how ridiculous she found his protest.

"Well...I didn't," he finally relented, unwilling to admit she had a point. "Anyway, apparently a few candidates won't be here until after January once they leave town for the holidays, so my captain wants me to get their interviews in tomorrow."

Becky's eyes flared with interest. "Who are they?" She asked, her curiosity bubbling over.

Dean squinted at his phone screen. "Huh. There's some experienced officers applying for this unit."

Becky's look of curiosity turned to full-on inquisition. "T'at's a good t'ing, right?" She pried, gently, hoping Dean would satisfy her curious mind.

Dean scoffed in return. "Yeah. Even though it makes me wonder why I'm one of the ones in charge of this bowl of fruits and nuts."

"Who else is in charge?" Becky asked, enjoying hearing Dean discuss topics he cared about.

"Well, there's Captain Foley. He appointed me. I gather that I'm like, team leader or whatever. I run the day to day, he keeps the brass happy. There's also Dana. She's the one that gave me the 'heads up' on these interviews tomorrow. She said her specialty is 'undercover,' but I get the sneaking feeling she might be there to keep an eye on me." Dean pulled his iPhone closer to his face. "Looks like I have four interviews tomorrow. Booker Huffman, Dustin Runnels, Emma Dashwood, and Zack Ryder. I know Zack, though, and he's hired if he wants the job."

"He's a good cop?" Becky inquired, sipping from her cocktail.

"Yeah, but not in the traditional sense. He's the best forensic accountant in Titan City. Maybe the country."

Wha' in God's name is a 'forensic accountan'?" Becky asked, her inebriation beginning to show.

Dean scoffed lightheartedly. "A forensic accountant is a cop who figures out where the money siphoned through a business owned by a crime figure is actually coming from." Seeing the puzzled look on Becky's face, he expounded on his point. "Let's say a drug lord has a ton of cash that he needs to explain the presence of. So he buys like, a car wash. It's a cash based business, there's no record of how many customers visit per day. It's a perfect front for organized crime. Instead of there being like three hundred thousand dollars this guy can't explain, he can say ' we had a good week at the car wash.' That's how they got Al Capone, actually."

Becky nodded. "I t'ink I ge' it." She smiled, slid off the stool across from Dean, and reset herself on the one to his immediate left.

"Is this ok?" She asked, not particularly caring what his answer was.

Dean grinned at her in response. "Absolutely." He slid his arm around the backrest of the high-backed chair. She, in response, leaned into the unstable Ambrose, grinning, and pecked the shocked young man on the cheek. (Author's note: I did mean for this kiss to stay in.)

"What was that for?" Dean asked, genuinely puzzled by the actions of Lynch.

"Yer jus' so stinkin 'andsome," Becky responded, the color beginning to flood to her cheeks. "Yer so passiona'e abou' wha' ya do. I's very attractive." She smiled at him, deeply, and leaned into his casual embrace. She took a long, final drink of her cocktail, before signaling for another. She turned her head toward Dean, letting him see her sparkling white grin. "I was very nervous abou' goin' on a date wit' a cop. Especially a cop I'd 'eard so many stories abou'." She grinned as Dean's face colored slightly. "Bu' I really wouldn' min' gettin' ta know ya be'er."

The young detective grinned. "I'm glad to hear that. I'm an interesting guy."

The two smiling young professionals continued their small talk for a while longer, until they were finished with their snacks. They played pool, casually threw darts, and lightheartedly flirted for another hour or so.

Finally, after a particularly rousing game of darts, Dean checked his watch. "Shit," Dean muttered. "It's getting late."

Becky gave an exaggerated pout. "Bu' we was jus' startin' to 'ave fun." She winked at Dean, before lightly running her hand up and down his arm. "No, I understan'. I know ya 'ave them interviews tomorrah."

Ambrose checked the time again. "Yeah, I should be done midway through the afternoon. You want to have dinner or something?"

Becky smiled sweetly, and a bit shyly. "I'm at the 'ospital tomorrah. 'Til la'e. But I'm off the res' a' the week fer Christmas."

As soon as the scarlet-haired beauty mentioned the upcoming holiday, a thought Dean had had earlier and then forgotten throughout the course of all the beer and general merrymaking, but he figured now was as good a time as any to ask the question on his mind.

"Do you have plans for Christmas?"

Becky smiled again, but this time Dean could make out a glint of sadness in her face. "No' really," she mused, "Me roomma'e is working Christma' Eve and spending the day wit' 'er boyfrien's family. I figured I'd watch 'allmark movies and eat ice cream."

Dean snickered. "Well, I don't know if I can offer that level of fun, but my old partner invited me to her house for Christmas Eve. Her son's gonna be in the pageant at church and it always sucks but they're little kids so the adults smile and applaud anyway. The dinner after is always somethin', though. Naomi and her mother in law go all out every year. I am one hundred percent sure you won't be an inconvenience or imposition. They love being hospitable."

Becky gave a toothy, truly happy grin. "I would love tha', then. I was very sad thinkin' I migh' spend' Christmas Eve alone." She slid both her arms around Dean's left upper arm, briefly resting her head against his shoulder. "Thank ya fer invitin' me."

Dean grabbed her jacket for her, then held it so she could put it on. He wasn't sure why, but he really wanted to impress the intrepid doctor with how he could treat a woman he was interested in when properly motivated.

"T'ank ya," the Irish angel beamed. "Yer such a gentleman."

Ambrose let a single hearty laugh escape at that statement. "That might be the one name no woman has ever called me before." He gestured toward the front door, nonverbally inviting Becky to walk with him. Her smile grew wider as he took her hand, and she couldn't help but peck him on the cheek again. This one was soft, like the last one, but it lasted a bit longer and Becky closed her eyes while delivering it.

"Yer a swee' man, Dean Ambrose. I don' care wha' them ladies at the hospital say abou' ya."

Dean snickered. "I guess it depends on what they say about me." The two sauntered slowly through the door, letting the frigid December northeast air slap them across the face. "So, where'd you park?"

Becky grimaced, though it was playful. "I walked."

Dean's eyebrows raised in surprise. "This is Titan City. You walked alone to a bar?"

Becky shrugged animatedly. "T'ere were still lots of people aroun' on the streets. It's only abou' eight blocks. I figgered it wa' safe."

Dean shook his head. "Well, you got lucky getting over here unscathed. I refuse to let you take the same chance going home, however." He gestured toward his truck, a well-worn but immaculately kept Ford F-250. "I won't take 'no' for an answer. Seriously. I don't want you to get trafficked on the way home."

Becky giggled, now fully feeling the effects of the beer and cocktails she'd imbibed throughout the night. "Okay. Ya can drive me 'ome.. Bu' no funny business, mister…" she trailed off, her pointer finger squarely in Dean's face.

Dean grinned his best smile at her. "I promise, you're just getting a ride home." He winked at her, and she rewarded him with another kiss to his cheek.

After opening the vehicle door for Becky and helping her into said vehicle, all the while trying VERY hard not to stare at Becky's alluring backside, Dean got himself settled into his vehicle and engaged in small talk with Becky for the extremely short ride back to her apartment.

Pulling into the closest spot he could find, Dean threw his truck into "park" and jumped out of the cab, hoping to get to Becky's door before she opened it herself. To his chagrin, she slid out of her seat and closed the door just as he was arriving, but did take his hand again as they walked to the door of her apartment building. FInally, after a few more silent steps, Becky turned toward Dean and smiled, taking his free hand in hers.

"I really ha' fun tonigh', Dean, thank ya."

Dean tried not to smile, hoping to keep his cool exterior together. "I had fun too. Will you text me tomorrow night if you get some free time?"

Becky glanced down at the sidewalk, trying desperately not to squeal with glee that Dean seemed to be so into her.

"Aye. I will. An' if muh roomma'e is 'ome nex' time, I'd like ya ta mee' 'er. She's an excellent judge a character."

"Then I'm not sure if I should meet her or not. She might figure me out."

"Ha!" Becky exclaimed, not expecting that answer, though she should have. "Yer a much nicer man than ya le' on, Dean. And I'm glad." With that, the auburn-haired vixen slid her arms around Dean's neck, raising her head to his and planted a kiss on the somewhat surprised mouth of Dean Ambrose. Feeling a slight moan escape the lips of the beautiful redhead, Dean leaned into the kiss after a moment, and the two allowed themselves a brief moment of total submergence into youthful romanticism. After what seemed like an hour, but was probably only two or three minutes, Becky pulled away from the kiss, slowly and remorsefully.

"I hafta go in now, Dean. Or I'll be ou' 'ere all nigh' kissin' ya."

"What's wrong with that?" Dean asked, his hands still plaed gently on Becky's hips.

Becky looked him in the eyes, thoughtfully. "I'd like ta. Truly. Bu' ya hafta be up early and I'm a' the hospital all day. But le's do this again soon, ya?"

Dean nodded. "Christmas Eve?"

Becky grinned. "Yeah. And maybe after?"

Dean smiled again. "I'd count on it."

Becky, despite her better judgement, grabbed Dean playfully by the lapels of his leather jacket and pulled him in for another kiss, allowing their tongues to intermingle for a precious few seconds. After another minute or so, Becky broke the kiss. She backed away from Dean slowly.

"G'nigh', boyo. Tex' me when ya ge' 'ome, yeah?"

Dean snickered. "I will."

With that, Becky scanned a small object over the electronic locking device that kept unwanted would-be visitors out. She turned, blew a whimsical kiss at Dean, and retreated into her building.

* * *

 _I did not intend to do 10+ pages on Dean and Becky's first date. I just had so much fun writing it. Next chapter will deal with cop stuff. Promise._


	4. Chapter 4: Commissary Romance

_So, right now my view/review ratio is about 100/1. Would be nice to cut that in half. Or more. I know y'all are reading. Review, you little jerks. ;)._

 _Just so you know, in gang vernacular, "set" means "crew." Example: "There was an entire set of Latin Kings in the club the other night, but they didn't start anything, because security was so heavy."_

 _Sorry, last thing; y'all talk to me about when Becky speaks. Is it easier for y'all if I write her dialogue normally and y'all put the accent in with your minds, or do I keep writing it how I am?_

Chapter Four: Commissary Romance

"Holy shit, I don't want to be here." Dean Ambrose's inner monologue was pretty much the only thing keeping him awake. 5 AM had come much earlier than the somewhat lackadaisical young man had been ready for, and an early morning jog/workout hadn't done nearly as much to assuage his fatigue. The only thing that helped him get ready for his day, as mundane as it was, was a text he got from Becky at 6:30, thanking him for the fun night she'd had and expressing hope that she'd see him again soon. Just the thought that she wanted to see him again was enough to make Dean smile through his entire post-workout shower at Haku's, as well as his walk to the subway station.

But all that seemed like an eternity ago. Right now, Dean was stuck in what felt like a perpetual cycle of bureaucracy and nonsense in the cavernous warehouse space that would soon be the home of Titan City's Major Crimes unit. The first interview had lasted all of 7 minutes. Zack Ryder showed up, presentation prepared, and Dean got about three slides into it before offering Zack the job. Currently, Dean's first ever hire was setting up his half of the office he'd be sharing with Dana Brooke. Dana, who'd shown up early, was meticulously taking notes while Dean's second interview, Booker Huffman, was in the middle of a long winded answer about his previous experience as a member of Titan City's Vice unit.

"...so yeah, after we collared the first couple gang members, the rest was easy. Once we got to the kid runnin' their corner, we dangled his narrow ass over a third floor balcony until he sang like Beyonce on all his boys. We got the entire set with one sweep. I never seen so many kids running so fast without an ice cream truck involved."

Dana, Booker, and Mick Foley, who was there supervising, all laughed. Dean, however, was too preoccupied with his phone to even register what was happening. After a few seconds of laughter, however, Dean snapped out of his laser focus enough to join in the reactionary laughs, as though he'd heard everything. Pretending he'd been paying attention, Dean glanced at the papers in front of him, before also pretending to look at Dana's notes.

"So, Booker, it says here you have….twenty three years experience." Dean nodded, engaged in the conversation for the first time. "Why would you be so interested in transferring departments so late in your career?"

Booker chuckled. "Man, it feels like I ain't done shit the last five years or so. Seems like our whole department's just gone soft, man. We make arrests, but we don't do a gotdamn thing to prevent crime."

Dean nodded. "I hear you, man."

Booker interrupted him excitedly. "No, you don't 'hear me, man.' I was a cop in this town back when that meant something. When we actually worked to prevent crime in this city. The fuck you talkin' about?"

Dean shrugged animatedly. "Hey man, I didn't mean to offend you. I'd actually love to have some experienced officers in this unit. I have a feeling most of our officers are gonna be out of town transfers or straight out of the academy."

Booker shook his head. "Fuck that, man. I didn't come here to be no damn babysitter."

The older man's response was so shocking that Dean couldn't help but laugh. "No man, not a babysitter. Like a mentor. You'd not only get to bust some fucking heads, you'd get to leave a legacy with young officers in Titan City. Remind them who the legend is."

Booker grinned and shook his head slightly. "Fuck you, man. You know how much I love me, and you tryin' to take advantage of that."

Dean glanced down at the papers in front of him. "Hey man, you applied to be here. So you tell me. What are you wanting to do during your time here?"

Booker stared into the distance for a second, measuring his words. "I want to actually catch some bad guys, man. Lock 'em up. Feel like I did some good before I retire."

Dean snickered. "Okay. You're hired, man. We start the first monday in January."

Booker's eyebrows raised in curiosity. "For real?"

"Yeah," Dean confirmed verbally. "We'll have your car assignment ready for you. We won't be 'patrolling,' per se, but we will have regular rounds in squad cars. Backing up regular cops and trying to make connections to our objectives. Clear?"

Booker nodded. "Crystal."

With that, Booker stood up, satisfied that he'd gotten what he wanted. He shook Dean's hand, grinned at Dana, and winked at Lieutenant Foley. "I'll see y'all in a couple weeks."

And that's how it went for Dean. After Zack and Booker, Dustin Runnels came in. Runnels had been a former border patrol agent, and served a long term as a narcotics cop in Dallas. He moved to Titan City some six years before to be near his ailing father and much younger half-brother, and had taken up his law enforcement career in the rough streets of North Titan. Dean was instantly impressed, and combined with Foley's admiration, Runnels was an immediate hire.

The team's fourth interview was the aforementioned Dashwood. She was still fairly new to the force, but she'd done good work handling crimes involving children in Philadelphia. Both Lieutenant Foley and Dean suspected they'd need some officers with expertise in dealing with juveniles, and Emma came off as poised and prepared, and so Emma was about to become the fourth hire of four interviews.

But that wasn't all that was happening during these long conversations. Dean was clearly smitten with the scarlet-haired bombshell he'd spent the previous evening with. He'd texted her when he got home, as he'd promised, and the two had spent the following day sending each other one and two line messages about how great each thought the other was. It was a feeling Dean hadn't experienced in a very long time, and he was okay with it, even though he knew he shouldn't be. Finally, during the middle of one of Emma Dashwood's answers to a question Dean hadn't been here, the disheveled man texted the question he'd had on his mind all day.

 _So, Becky, are you free for dinner tonight? I would just love to see you again._

Dean half listened to Emma, trying to occupy his mind so as to not obsess over every second between him sending his latest correspondence and when he received his response.

As it turned out, Dean didn't have to wait very long. As Emma was responding to one of Foley's questions, Dean's phone buzzed, an indicator that she'd returned his message.

 _I'm at the hospital until after midnight now. But, if you're so inclined, I'd spend my dinner hour with you if you bring me some food. The commissary is normally decent, but I guess the regular cooks are home for the holiday, because breakfast was shit._

Dean grinned, but tried not to let anyone see how excited he was. Discretely, he typed his response.

 _Yeah. What do you want? I gotta go home and get my car, but that won't take long._

Dean grinned as he received her response. "She must be fuckin' hungry," he mused to himself internally.

 _I want a big grill chicken salad from Red Rooster. And a 5 pc tender kids meal. That's for my roommate._

 _Done,_ Dean responded, his grin growing wider at the prospect of getting to see Becky sooner than he'd originally thought.

A minute later, Becky responded, letting him know her choice of coffee and dressing for her salad, and Dean began extending his mental checklist to include his rendezvous with Becky.

It didn't take much longer for Ambrose, Brooke, and Foley to conclude their interview with Dashwood. She was hired, and the smile on her face betrayed how excited she was for this step up in responsibility. She said her goodbyes, and as she walked out the door, Dean noticed Dana was not exactly subtle in the manner in which she checked out the backside of the young Australian woman. Upon seeing this, Dean raised his eyebrows and made eye contact with his co-worker.

"What?" Dana asked defensively. "We both know she's hot."

Dean gave her a flabbergasted gaze. "Weren't you just hitting on me the other night?"

Dana grinned and winked. "Some of us aren't so primitive that we can't appreciate the finer specimens of both genders."

Dean snickered, then nodded knowingly. "I hear you. Good for you, girl."

Dana shrugged. "Titan City can be a wonderful place."

Dean let out a laugh. "Ha! Yes, yes it can. Speaking of that," he returned resolutely, beginning to pack his things as though he were done for the day, "that's it, right? We done? Because I've got places to be."

Foley chuckled. "You're not that lucky, Ambrose. We have one more. A late addition. He's a SWAT captain in East Titan. We're gonna have our own incursion unit here. Kind of a 'mini-SWAT.' For busting up drug labs and the like."

Dean nodded, an impressed look washing over his face. "Sounds like my kinda guy. Who is it?"

Foley squinted at a piece of paper in front of him. "Looks like he graduated from the Academy the same class as you. Do you know a 'Roman Reigns?'"

Suddenly, the nonchalant smirk on Dean's face disappeared. Replacing it was a mix of dread and regret. He moved his head in the affirmative, but there was none of the jovial recognition he'd had in his earlier interactions with Dana and Mick.

"Yeah, I know Roman. We used to be good friends."

Foley reacted with clearly discernible surprise. "'Used to be?'" He repeated, a bit puzzled. "What happened?"

Dean grinned, but there was no joy in his smile. "He married my high school sweetheart."

Both Dana and Captain Foley's faces stretched in minor horror.

"What?" Dana asked incredulously.

"Yeah. She and I'd been broken up about two years. I really had no right to be mad about it, but I was. We were at the Academy together. Roomies, actually. Then, one day after our PT and outdoor tactical training, this fine little thing shows up with a picnic lunch for them to enjoy together. Apparently they'd been dating a few weeks at that point. I think I know who it is, but I say to myself 'no, it can't be.' But it is. Sasha fucking Banks, purple hair, bangin' little body, sweet smile and all. And Roman runs to her like a goddamn golden retriever."

Dana snickered. "That's rough."

"Yeah, you're tellin' me. We spent almost every day together the last year and a half of high school, go to both proms together, the whole 'Corey and Topanga' bunch of bullshit."

Foley chuckled. "I loved that show."

Dean nodded, pointing playfully at his captain. "Fuck yes. Me too. But that isn't the point. I'm actually not a hundred percent sure what the point is. I still don't really have any idea why I was so mad at Roman. I broke up with Sasha. It's not like she screwed me over. I guess…" His voice trailed off, his face full of nostalgic regret.

"You guess what?" Dana asked, impatiently.

"I met Renee right after that. I guess I always kind of blamed the frame of mind I was in during that time on seeing my first love and my roommate happily involved. And that was BEFORE they got married." Ambrose shook his head ruefully, continuing his sad tale. "I ran headlong into Renee's arms. And it was okay for a while. But I can't shake the feeling that I would've never ended up in the situation I was in if I hadn't seen Roman and Sasha that day. They just...they looked so happy. She never seemed that happy with me. We were always fighting and screaming and then having make-up sex in her mom's basement or in my car. Sasha and I weren't good for each other. But that didn't stop me from hating Roman for being good for her."

Captain Foley shook his head slowly. "That's...goddamn. You want me to cancel the interview?"

Dean shook his head. "Nah. I'm...ok with all the relationships in my life right now. I just don't know how I'm gonna do if I see Roman again."

Dana smiled and shook her head. "Who knew Dean Ambrose was such a hopeless romantic?"

Dean's gaze snapped toward Dana. "You seemed to think I was something the other night at Lanza's."

Dana chuckled again, almost offended at Dean's brazen nature. "Hey, we all get bored sometimes."

This time, everyone laughed. Dean honestly thought Dana was funny, and he didn't mind her giving him a hard time, and so anyone currently occupying that particular space was sharing a good chuckle. After a beat, all three officers made their minds get back on track.

"Is he here?" Dean inquired, genuinely curious.

Foley checked his phone, then nodded. "Yeah. He's in the lobby. Want me to let him in or wait for you to leave?"

Dean rolled his eyes. "I'm staying for this interview. It's my unit, right?"

Foley shrugged. "Yeah. Fair enough."

With that, Dean and Dana resumed their earlier positions, as Foley went to retrieve the aforementioned Reigns. As he did, Ambrose again reached for his phone, needing to alert Becky of this latest development.

 _Hey Dr. Pretty Lady, we have one more interview. Last second change. Probably be about 6:15 before I can get there. Cool?_

Dean hastily thumbed the "send" button, sliding his phone back into his jacket pocket before turning his attention to the massive frame entering the interview room.

Roman Reigns cut an intimidating silhouette. Well over six feet tall, he looked every bit the part of "badass SWAT Team Leader." He sauntered into the room, his inky black hair cascading down his shoulders.

"Guy looks like a fuckin' action hero," Dean mused to himself. And Dean wasn't wrong. Roman Reigns looked like the textbook definition of "law enforcement officer." His confident snicker looked like it was plastered on his face, and his nonchalant demeanor was the opposite of what Dean felt at that moment. To add to Dean's problems, his phone vibrated at that moment, with what Dean assumed was a verdict regarding his last message to Becky.

 _Oh boyo. I guess I'm not as important as I thought. JK. That's fine. Just make sure my food is fresh and that you're ready to provide stimulating conversation._

Dean snickered to himself. In spite of his trepidations involving relationships after the Renee fiasco, he found Becky to be quite engaging. Sensing Roman's presence growing closer, Dean quickly thumbed out a response.

 _You're the biggest deal I've got going, Doc. But the Titan City Police Dept. keeps wanting me to like, do my job before they just hand me money. But, once this is over, I'll be ready to provide stimulation._

He sent the text and once again hid his phone, hoping to get at least part-way through the interview before Becky responded. He noticed the imposing shadow of Roman Reigns beginning to overtake him, and so Dean stood, though all he really wanted to do was punch Roman right in his smug, perfectly manicured face.

"Dean," Roman began, extending his hand.

Dean shook it, although he briefly considered snubbing the larger man. "Roman. Long time no see."

Roman smirked. "Yeah. And who's fault is that?"

"I dunno," Dean deadpanned. "We could ask Sasha."

The outward expression on Roman's face didn't change a lot, but it did change. His jaw tightened and he took a small step in toward Ambrose.

"Watch it, Dean. That's my wife."

Ambrose snickered, but he did raise his arms up in a posture of surrender, acknowledging that he was just kidding.

"Man, I'm sorry. I promise I'm not still mad. I can't help myself sometimes."

Roman returned Dean's glib smile. "I remember. It hasn't been that long since we were dominating the Academy together."

With that, both men found their seats, though neither seemed to be able to relax completely. Sensing that this was the calmest the two men would be in the same room as one another, Mick Foley launched into the same line of questions about Roman's background that he'd asked every other applicant that day.

With every answer that Roman gave, Dean had to admit he was impressed. Reigns had carved out the beginning of what everyone involved knew was going to be a stellar police career. He'd quickly moved into a role as head of his own SWAT Team, a group that had been involved with busting drug labs and human trafficking dens all over the roughest areas of Titan City. And now he was looking for a way up. One thing occurred to Dean, though. As Reigns neared the conclusion of one of his answers, Dean raised his hand loosely, indicating his intention to ask a question.

"So, Roman, if you're doing so well in East Titan, why are you lookin' to make the move into a new unit?"

Roman nodded thoughtfully. "Man, East Titan is like a cesspool. And that's just my precinct. Seemed like every bust we made and piece of evidence we impounded were just tossed aside by our captain. He's a fat piece of shit who'd rather stay on the good side of the corrupt politicians and drug kingpins then do any real good over there. He's a real purveyor of bureaucracy. Most of the guys on my SWAT team, even, aren't exactly hounds of justice. When I heard about this unit, I thought it'd be a chance to do some real good. Maybe make this city safer for my kids."

A twinge of anger creeped up inside Dean when he heard Roman use the word "kids." Mostly because he knew who the mother of those kids was. But he shoved that anger down, determined to make the right decision for his new squad. He grunted in the affirmative at Roman's answer.

"So I take it you won't be bringing the guys from your SWAT team over to our unit?"

Roman scoffed, almost choking on the coffee he was sipping. "Hell no. Well, of the twelve, I'm asking four if they'll come with me." He glanced at his phone, at what Dean assumed was a list of his invitees. "If you decide you like them, I wanna bring over Kofi Kingston, Xavier Woods, Ettore Langston, and Kaitlyn Bonin. The rest of them are wastes of flesh I inherited from the SWAT team leader I took over for."

Dean chuckled. He knew better than most what it was like having lazy, inept bosses. It was one of the reasons he'd taken the new assignment in the first place. He liked Orndorff, but he didn't think the forlorn and worn-down CO had any more passion for law and order left in him.

"Cool," Ambrose answered. "We'll be taking applications on the other four spots on your team, then?'

Reigns nodded in the affirmative. "Yeah. I've got a few guys in mind, but I won't have answers from most of them until after the holidays."

"Great," Dean responded again. "Well, as far as I'm concerned, you're hired."

Roman smiled. "Awesome."

Foley cut in. "And you two are sure you can get along?"

Dean tried not to let on how funny he thought it was that Captain Foley thought he would be mad enough to hinder his decision making process. Dean thought about making a scene just for his own amusement, but instead he resolved to play everything as straight as possible so he could make his dinner connection.

"I promise," Dean intimated, "I'm good. I was just making a joke before. I'm good with what happened years ago."

"And you?" Foley asked, his gaze leveling on Roman.

"Yeah. I want to bust drug dealers. Pimps. Various other assholes. If I have to put up with this asshole to do it, then that's fine."

Dean snickered, knowing who Roman was talking about. "Good. Keep sending your texts or whatever. We'll get your guys put together when we get back from Christmas."

Roman nodded. "Cool. We done?"

Dean glanced over at Captain Foley, who gave both young men a "thumbs up" gesture.

"Okay," Roman spat, an air of finality in his voice. "If I get out of here now, I can still pick Jasmine up from day care." Roman looked over at Dana, but Dean was really the one interested in what Roman was saying. "Jasmine's my daughter. She's three. Sasha is pregnant with our second now. We find out the gender soon."

Dana felt bad for Dean, but her heart also melted seeing such a rugged, handsome man speak so fondly of his children, both born and unborn.

"Aww," she cooed. "That's really sweet." Dean rolled his eyes as Roman smiled.

"Thanks," Roman replied politely, giving Dana a courteous smile.

Roman turned back to Dean. "We good?"

Dean nodded slowly. "Yeah. It'll be good working with you."

Roman smiled, pretty sure that what he was going to say next was going to ruin Dean's good attitude. "Good, because you know how you're gonna be at Jimmy and Naomi's house Christmas Eve?"

Dean nodded slowly. "Yeah?"

Roman sighed deeply. "Well, Jimmy's my cousin. I asked Naomi not to tell you when I heard y'all were partners, because, well, we weren't exactly speaking then. I'm gonna be at his house, too."

Dean tried not to show any outward emotion. "And Sasha?"

Roman snickered. "I mean, I try not to leave the wife home on major holidays. She's on her own for like, Earth Day, or Cinco de Mayo, but Christmas Eve seems pretty important."

Dean chuckled wryly. "Cool. Well, thanks for the heads up. I guess I'll see you there?"

Roman shrugged. "Sure." Without another word, Roman waved lazily at Dana and Foley, then turned and left the precinct. Still not sure what to make of his previous conversation, Dean turned toward Captain Foley.

"Are we done now?" Ambrose asked, anxious to lay his eyes on Becky.

Foley nodded. "Yeah, we are. We'll meet again on the twenty-seventh. We'll have a few more interviews, then we'll open on the second with whatever crew we have while we finish hiring."

Ambrose gave an impressed whistle. "I guess City Hall really is serious about getting us up and running, if they're gonna let us run before we have a full crew."

Foley shrugged. "Crime doesn't take time off. I guess City Hall figured we shouldn't either."

* * *

Dean tried to tamp down his irritation as he waited in the hospital lobby, his arms full of bags of food and his heart racing. He was also trying not to think about the events that brought him to the hospital the last time. Getting shot wasn't a pleasant experience, and Dean didn't like how often he still thought about it.

Becky had texted him, letting him know she was coming to get him, but that had been several minutes ago. He'd had enough time to sit down and get comfortable, which would've been okay normally. But this wasn't a normal situation. All Dean wanted was the endorphin rush that would accompany seeing the breathtaking redhead. It worried Dean a bit that he was so excited to see Becky again after only twenty four hours, but it also made him ridiculously happy that she appeared to be just as happy to see him.

Just as Dean started to worry about Becky no-showing, the automatic doors marked "to intensive care" slid open and the grinning, distinct face of Becky Lynch crossed Dean's perception for the first time in a full day.

"'Ey, boyo," she greeted the man jovially. "Ya get mah salad?"

She kissed Dean on the cheek when she got close, before sliding her arms around Dean for an affectionate embrace.

"I did," Dean returned, enjoying the feel of Becky's body against his. Dean honestly wasn't sure if "inviting" was a good way to describe the way a woman's body felt against his own, but that was how she felt. Her presence was nurturing, warm, and friendly, and all three of those attributes were things Dean needed in his life.

"Well le's go then," Becky returned playfully. She noted that both his hands were full, but he refused to let her carry anything. Instead of fighting him on that, as she might have otherwise, she just giggled and led him playfully through the doors and down the hallway that led to the hospital commissary area.

The first few minutes the two spent together were spent in almost complete silence. Becky was famished, and she'd refused to take a snack break, knowing that her favorite menu item at one of her favorite eateries was on its way to her. She's attacked the chicken salad with gusto, and Dean liked that she wasn't scared to eat in front of him. Renee was always conscious of her appearance, and that led to her picking at food whenever she was with Dean, even after they were married. Dean found it refreshing to see a girl as pretty as Becky not care about whether she ate in front of him. After a minute, Dean sensed a third presence in the room. Glancing over his right shoulder, he was immediately aware of a pretty brunette approaching them cautiously.

"Becky, is this…?" She trailed off once she saw she'd gotten Becky's attention.

"Oh, yeah, c'mere." Becky hastily finished the bite of chicken and salad she was working on, before gesturing toward the new girl, getting Dean's attention.

"Dean, thes is Bayley Martinez. She's the head pediatric nurse 'ere at Rogers. She's also meh roommate."

The brunette girl waved at Dean, a broad grin invading her face.

"Hi, Dean," she began, "I've heard a lot about you. It's nice to meet you."

Dean extended his hand, which Bayley readily accepted. "It's good to meet you, too. I got your kids meal here." he continued, gesturing toward the last unmolested "to go" box on the table. Dean's own burger and fries were almost gone, and Becky's salad was disappearing at an alarming rate, too. Bayley grinned as she opened her own box, finding her chicken tenders to be to her approval.

And that's how it went for the next thirty minutes or so. Becky and Dean eating, while Bayley maintained a constant stream of idle chatter while she consumed her own dish. A few interesting things did happen during that half hour; mainly, that Becky slid her leg under the booth table the three were sitting on, until her lower leg came to rest against Dean's. Upon feeling this nonverbal signal of Becky's affection, Dean glanced up at her, finding a grin from the pretty redhead. It caused a cascade of butterflies in Dean's stomach to feel this close contact from Becky, especially while Bayley was around. Finally, the conversation became more important than the food, and Dean found himself listening intently as Becky regaled Bayley with the tale of Becky and Dean's first date;

"So t'en he drove meh home, he opened the door for meh, he was very swee'. I couldn' wai' tah see 'im again. Tha's why he's 'ere."

Dean grinned. "Yep."

Bayley smiled broadly. "Awww. And you're going with him for Christmas Eve?" She asked, happy for her friend.

"I am," she responded, unable to hide the smile on her own face.

"That's really sweet," Bayley asserted. "So you guys are a real 'commissary romance?'"

And it went on like that for almost the entire dinner hour. Bayley and Becky talking, while Dean sat there like an idiot. Finally, Becky checked her watch.

"I hafta ge' inta surgery, Dean. I'm supervisin' a procedure in an hour. I got tah ge' sterilized and such before'and." Having finished their dinner, Dean smiled up at Becky.

"So I gotta go, huh?"

Becky nodded. "I don' wan' ya too, but I got ta ge' prepped fer surgery." Dean stood as she spoke, and Becky extended her hand toward his, slipping her lithe fingers in between his. She began walking him down the hall as he briefly addressed Bayley.

"It was good meeting you, Bayley."

"You too, Dean," she responded, smiling broadly as she observed the two walking away, hand in hand. She was happy for Becky to have met someone who seemed so into her. While she watched them, Becky looked back at her roommate, rolling her eyes at how unrepentantly Bayley was watching them. She looked up at Ambrose, her gaze finding his.

"Thank ya fer bringin' me food, Dean. It was really good ta see ya. I'm really lookin' forward ta Christmas Eve in a coupla days, yeah?"

Dean nodded. "Yeah. Oughta be a good time." Dean decided to keep the news he'd learned today about his high school girlfriend attending the same Christmas Eve party as they were to himself.

They reached the front door, and Becky used he ID badge to open the automatic sliding doors. She grinned at Dean, before turning to face him, lacing her arms around his neck.

"Yer an interestin' guy, Dean Ambrose. Yer very thoughtful, even though ya don' wan' people ta know."

Dean smiled in return. "I know. You make me want to be thoughtful."

Becky tried not to blush, her smile lighting the square footage around the two young lovers. "I'm glad." She planted a kiss full on Dean Ambrose's lips, moaning with pleasure into Dean's mouth.

Dean grinned back at Becky, breaking the kiss up. "I can't wait to see you again."

Becky squeezed Dean tightly in her arms. "Soon, Dean. We'll have a good time."

Dean nodded, receiving another kiss from Becky for his trouble. It took everything Dean had to pull himself away from the breathtaking doctor, though he knew she had to go back to work. The two said their goodbyes, and Dean drove away, his head still spinning from his encounter with the Irish stunner he was so lucky to have fallen in with…

* * *

 _Sorry, writing Dean/Becky is so fun. We'll have some variance next chapter._

 _What do y'all think? Can Dean and Roman work together? Cand Dean and Sasha be in the same room? Review, you little turds. And Merry Christmas._


	5. Chapter 5: Saved Dances

_Thanks as always for reading. Review._

 _Also, after watching the WWE network thing about Becky, I'm gonna stop doing her accent after this chapter._

 _Also, review._

Chapter 5: Saved Dances

Christmas Eve at Jimmy and Naomi Fatu's house was the closest thing to a "family Christmas" Dean Ambrose had ever been a part of. Children of various ages were laughing and playing with some of the new toys they'd been allowed to open that evening. Dean couldn't help but smile, although he did his best to hide it from everyone.

The Christmas Eve service had been it's usual train wreck of cuteness and sentimentality. Toa sang earnestly, smiled for pictures, and even waited patiently for all of his parents' family and friends to arrive at the Fatu home before changing out of his nice clothes. In return, he'd been allowed to open the gift Dean got for him, and sprang from his seated position on the floor to throw his arms around Dean's neck when he laid eyes on his new Matchbox cars. It was a sweet moment for Dean, at a time in his life when they'd become increasingly hard to come by. It was the second best thing that'd happened to Dean that night.

The best thing that had happened to Ambrose that night had occurred just a couple of moments after he'd pulled his sturdy old truck up to the curb outside Becky's apartment building. The old brick building, which had once been a factory for machine parts, was decorated for the holidays. The white lights twinkled in the falling snow, and there was a giant decorated tree in the front lawn.

None of these things, in Dean's opinion, were in the same sphere of beauty as his date for the evening. His heart skipped a beat when the apartment front doors swung open and the exquisite form of Doctor Becky Lynch strode confidently out into the frigid air.

Even dressed down, she was a sight to behold. Her black slacks hugged her lower form perfectly, and her white blouse and maroon sweater combination set her rich auburn hair off unbelievable well. Even with her coat and stocking hat on, her natural beauty stood out. She greeted Dean warmly, with a warm hug and a light, soft kiss, and began walking to Dean's truck with him, her arm lightly hooked in his.

She smiled at him again when he opened her truck door, before pecking him on the lips again and climbing in. The ride to church was filled with small talk about the upcoming festivities, and Dean noticed a change in how affectionate she was being toward him. She'd reached to his side of the console and taken his free hand in hers. The drive to the church wasn't as long as Dean would've liked, as it meant not enough alone time with Becky, but when they parked beside the church, Becky smiled and kissed him again.

"I'm really 'appy to be 'ere, Dean. T'ank ya."

Dean snickered. "Don't thank me. I'm the lucky one. I do have to tell you one thing, though."

Becky's eyebrows furrowed a bit. "Tell me wha'?"

Dean sighed. "Well, my ex-girlfriend is gonna be at the house we're going to after this. It isn't a big deal, I promise. It's been almost ten years. She actually married a guy I'm gonna start working with soon. We… used to be close. I just wanted you to know in case someone said something stupid."

Becky nodded. "And I'm no' jus' there to make 'er jealous?" She asked, cautiously, though she made no move to pull away from Dean.

Dean scoffed playfully. "Oh, you're gonna make her jealous, because she's the jealous type. But I invited you before I knew she was even gonna be there. Promise."

Becky smiled and nodded. "I believe ya, Dean. Ya jus' never know."

Dean laughed softly. "I get it. Believe me, the last thing I want on Christmas Eve is drama. It just seems like drama always finds me."

Becky chuckled softly. Without any further conversation, she opened her truck door, as did Dean, and the two walked arm in arm (it was too cold outside to remove gloves, making holding hands both dumb and impractical) into the service.

Dean immediately spotted his small group of friends. Becky remembered Naomi from the night she met Dean, and was quickly and quietly introduced to everyone else. She'd noticed that the exchange between Dean and Roman was a bit stilted, and that Dean didn't say anything it all to the purple-haired girl Becky assumed was Sasha. Dean and Becky finally found their seats next to Naomi and Jimmy Fatu, and were greeted warmly. Dean waved at the girl he knew to be Jimmy's cousin, a large but strikingly beautiful Samoan girl named Nia. Naomi had once attempted to set up Dean and Nia, but she hadn't shown any more interest than he had.

Once everyone got settled, Becky scooted a bit closer to Dean, before taking the arm attached to the hand he was holding and sliding it over her shoulders. Dean smiled and glanced down at the affectionate Irishwoman, who playfully leaned into him. Dean began to let his guard down, until he heard a familiar voice that caused the hair on his neck to stand up.

She wasn't talking to him. She didn't even acknowledge whether or not she'd seen him, but Dean could feel her brown eyes bearing down on him. He couldn't decide whether or not to let Becky in on what was happening, but he decided he wanted her to be informed if there were an incident.

"Hey," he whispered into Becky's ear. His breath on her cheek gave her goosebumps, though her long sleeves hid them.

"Yeh?" She asked, her eyes scanning his face for a sign as to what he was talking about. She could see that he was clearly trying not to look in a certain direction.

"My ex wife is here. Pretty blonde, shoulder length hair, boring a hole in my skull with her eyes. I swear I didn't know she was coming." Becky could tell Dean was worried that she would think he brought her with less than honorable intentions, so she tried to pat his leg reassuringly.

"Shhh. It's okay, Dean. I know ya didn' bring me 'ere to be a jerk ta someone else. Ya can do tha' fine on yer own."

Dean chuckled. "You know me better than I thought, clearly. No, I wouldn't have come if I'd known she was going to be here. I dislike being around her that much." His eyes darted back toward his ex-wife, who was now making no attempt to hide her hateful stares at Dean and this new mystery woman. "Is she still looking at us?"

Becky's eyes darted toward the blonde- haired girl. "No," she returned honestly. "She's lookin' a' you."

Dean snickered, not expecting that response. "Well, I'm glad she doesn't hate you yet."

Becky smiled up at Dean. "Well, then, let's give 'er reason tah." With that, she leaned up from her seat toward Dean, pressed her lips toward his, and gave him the most romantic kiss she felt comfortable with in a church building. When she finished, with a small giggle, she reached up to Dean's face and wiped her lipstick from his mouth with her thumb.

"There," she continued, "now I'm sure she 'ates both of us." She smiled again, glancing over at the blonde woman, who'd narrowed her eyes menacingly at the couple. "Yeh, she's pissed," Becky remarked.

Dean gave her a wry half-smile. "Well, this is another thing we have in common."

Becky was halfway through formulating her response when the lights in the All Saints Church dimmed, indicating that the program was about to begin. So, instead of speaking, Becky simply turned her eyes toward the stage and leaned into Dean, his arm still around her, and slid her hand onto his leg.

* * *

Now, at the Fatu residence, the party was in full swing. Naomi, as well as Nia and Jimmy's mom, a wonderful woman Naomi had called Lena, were serving up a storm in the kitchen. They'd clearly spent a substantial amount of time on Christmas Eve day preparing delicious party food for their guests, and the smiles on their faces as they watched the pleased responses from their guests told the entire story.

Dean had other reasons to be pleased. He was currently slouched in an easy chair not far from the roaring fireplace, an overflowing plate of snacks in one hand, and a napkin in the other. He had a beer bottle wedged between his leg and the side of the chair, and he had a gorgeous, sweet smelling redhead perched on the armrest closest to the fire. She was nursing a plate of snacks, too, though hers wasn't nearly as loaded as Dean's. She could tell Dean had some mild hang ups regarding high levels of public affection, particularly in such an intimate setting, so she just sat with him, smiling, and talking with him quietly. She wasn't sure how deep her feelings were for Dean, but she knew she liked him enough to take things at his pace.

After a few minutes of small talk with Becky, another fresh beer, and some apple pie (freshly prepared by Lena), the exchanges of gifts began. There was no formal structure. No names pulled out of a hat or "white elephant" gift swaps. Just people who'd brought presents for other people that they loved. Even Becky, who'd had only a couple days notice that she'd even be there, had pitched in with Dean to buy gifts.

For his hosts, the Fatu's, Dean bought a "welcome" mat. Ever the kidder, however, the mat was custom, with a message that instructed any approaching potential guests to "Come Back with a Warrant." Naomi, in particular, found the message hilarious. Dean got Jimmy's mom a certificate for a message, and various gift cards for most of the other guests, whom he didn't know as well.

Dean got various gift cards and other less than intimate presents. Truth be told, no one related to Jimmy or Naomi really felt that they knew the enigmatic loner that well, and so they bowed to courtesy, bringing Dean gifts merely so they didn't feel like jerks for not bringing anything. Most of these same people also had no idea Becky was even coming, but she graciously laughed it off. She even joked with Lena Fatu that the family could "ma'e it up ta me nex' year."

Dean tried to ignore Becky's assumption that she'd be there the next year. He wanted to think it sounded presumptuous of her to just surmise that the two would still be seeing each other a year from now, but he also had to acquiesce to himself that the idea didn't scare him. He didn't know Becky that well yet, but everything he'd seen from her made him think that he'd be smart to keep her around as long as she'd put up with both his nonsense and his shitty work schedule. He couldn't help but stare at her. The raging fire was reflecting in her eyes just perfectly, and the flowing light gave her an almost ethereal appearance. Becky caught Dean looking at her, but, rather than give him a hard time, she merely playfully nudged him with her arm and grinned affectionately at him.

"I gotcha a gif'," she told him quietly, the commotion of gift giving around them covering up the sound.

"Really?" Ambrose countered, half-smile crossing his face.

"Yeh," Becky whispered, leaning close to Dean as she continued talking. "I'll give it to ya when ya ta'e me 'ome."

Dean grinned wider. "Oh, really?"

Becky shook her head and rolled her eyes, though she was chuckling, too. "No' a chance, boyo. Tonigh', anyway. But I did get ya somthin' I know you'll li'e. I di' leave it in me room, so you'll hafta walk me up this time."

Dean grinned and winked at his date. "Lookin' forward to it."

* * *

An hour or so later, Becky yawned loudly, and not to indicate that she was ready to leave, but out of actual fatigue. She'd had a long week at the hospital, and while she'd enjoyed meeting the people Dean cared most for, at this point in the evening she was having trouble keeping her eyes open.

There had been one more significant moment in her evening. Dean had gotten up to talk to Jimmy and Roman, leaving the seat next to Becky unoccupied. Before she had a chance to get up or change her location at all, the vacant seat next to her filled with a much smaller form than the one that vacated it. Becky glanced over at the easy chair's new occupant, and was surprised and mildly concerned to see the lithe frame of Mrs. Sasha Banks Reigns. What surprised her even more, however, was the congenial manner with with Sasha started her conversation.

"So," Sasha began, in an even tone that almost unnerved Becky, "I'm Sasha." She turned toward the stunned red haired girl.

"Becky," the Irish beauty responded, still curious as to what the smaller girl wanted.

"You're here with Dean," Sasha observed externally. "That's...good. You seem much less...extra...than the girls I normally see him around."

"Ya see 'im aroun' girls a lo'?"

Sasha shrugged. "Not really. I mean, we have a lot of mutual friends, and with Roman being a cop, like Dean, there's always tons of gossip. Last I'd heard he'd shacked up with some fitness instructor who was like ten years older than him."

Becky tried not to grimace. Dean had mentioned Victoria briefly, but mostly as an example of how haphazardly he'd been living his life since the divorce.

"Yeh, he mentioned t'at. Bu' so far 'e's been very swee'."

Sasha nodded. "He's a sweet guy. He also seems to have grown up a lot."

Becky snickered, but it didn't seem hostile coming from her. "I t'ink we all 'ave since high school."

Sasha nodded, though the look in her eyes was somewhat wistful. "Dean always had a big heart. He just sometimes chose to fill it with the wrong things. But he is being nice to you?"

Becky grinned and nodded. "Yeh. He brough' me dinner to the 'ospital the other night. Go' mah order righ' an' everthing."

Sasha laughed a bit louder. "He HAS grown up. No matter what I asked him to bring, he used to bring me a burger and fries. Told me I needed to get a little 'junk in my trunk.'"

Becky covered her mouth and laughed. Every story she heard about Dean made her feelings ripen for him in one way or another. Dean's checkered past didn't scare her off, but she did like hearing about it, if only to paint a clearer picture of who she was dealing with.

"Tha' soun's li'e 'im." Becky paused to take a swig of her beer. "No, I was wary a' firs'. Bu' 'e's been nothin' bu' a comple'e gentleman since we star'ed datin'. Tha' was abou' four days ago."

Sasha smiled. "Well, you seem really good for him. He's a good guy. Really. He can be a dick, but if he cares about you, he's the greatest guy in the world." She stood up, though it was more laborious than she remembered it being before she was pregnant. She clapped Becky on the arm, who'd also stood, though she wasn't 100% sure why.

"He's a good man, Becky. Roman says he's grown up a lot since he first met him. And you seem really sweet. Be patient with him, because he's been through a lot. Everyone I know who knows his ex-wife says so. She really did him dirty."

Becky nodded, stopping to run a finger through her hair and tuck some of it behind her left ear. "I 'eard. The women a' the 'ospital tol' me 'e was a bad guy, bu' he 'asn't been anything but a perfec' gentleman since we been dating."

Sasha nodded. "Good. I'll kick his ass if he isn't." As Sasha finished speaking, Dean came meandering back to his previous spot, his expression wary at seeing his current love interest and his former love conversing.

"The hell is going on here?" He asked, genuinely curious.

"Sasha 'ere was jus' tellin' me how much fun the two of ya used to 'ave."

Dean chuckled. "Oh lord." He rolled his eyes and slid his arm loosely around Becky's shoulders. "Nothing too good, I hope."

Becky grinned, winking at Sasha. "She tol' me abou' the bedwettin' thing."

A look of horror washed over Dean's face. "Sasha, what the fuck? I did no-"

Dean's protest was cut off by the laughs of both women.

"I'm just messin' wit' ya, Dean. She actually said you 'ave a good 'eart, an' tha' ya know how ta trea' people ya care abou'."

Dean's long, terrified face morphed into an arrogant but playful snicker. "Damn right I do."

Now it was Sasha's turn to laugh. "We had you going though. You thought I told her you were a bedwetter."

Dean shook his head again. "I was never a bedwetter. We both know that." He turned toward Becky, the expression on his face unchanged. "Don't listen to this nonsense."

Becky giggled. She liked it when the ordinarily unflappable Ambrose showed some emotion. "Are ya sure? I could see ya bein' the type tha' pisses 'imself while 'e's sleepin'."

The three all laughed again. For Ambrose, this was a big deal. There weren't many situations in which he'd be okay with anyone giving him a hard time like this. For Becky, though, he'd make an exception.

"It was only once, and I'd just watched _Amityville Horror,_ and I was like eight. I was afraid to get out of bed and go to the bathroom. Despite what this one tells you." He pointed at Sasha, though everyone knew who he was talking about. "And why are you talking to Becky at all? I don't need any extra obstacles in convincing her I'm a good man."

Becky giggled whimsically. "Boy, ain't tha' the truth?"

Becky and Sasha swapped knowing looks. Sasha, visibly pregnant, was clearly not trying to get Dean back, and therefore Becky knew she didn't have to view Sasha as an enemy. If anything, Becky deduced internally, Sasha could prove an invaluable asset when it came to dealing with her new possible suitor and his idiosyncrasies.

Sasha threw her hands up innocently. "I was just being friendly." She grinned and winked at her new redheaded acquaintance. "Can I borrow him for just a second?" She asked Becky, no hint of malice in her countenance.

"Eh, sure, I guess," Becky returned, not sure why Sasha would need to speak to Dean alone, but unwilling to create a disturbance in public. Nodding at Sasha, and quickly squeezing Dean's hand, Becky wandered into the kitchen, greeted warmly by Naomi and Nia.

Dean followed Sasha into a sunken indoor enclave to the side of the Uso's family room. It was behind the fireplace, and so Dean felt the temperature around him drop fifteen to twenty degrees. Sasha gave a brief shiver in response, before starting her talk.

"So," she began, trying to ignore how frigid the room she was in was, "are you and Ro gonna be okay working together? I know there's been some bad blood between you."

Dean snickered. "Shit, you WERE the 'bad blood between us.' I think I can work with Roman. It's not like he stole you from me. I just... " He trailed off, taking a deep breath. "There's a code, okay? As my friend, he should've asked me if it was okay to date you. Even if I broke up with you. That's just courtesy. And when I saw the two of you eating that goddamn picnic, a little bit of me soured. Like, hasn't been right since. Until recently, honestly."

Sasha couldn't suppress her smile. "Becky?"

Dean didn't want to give his high school girlfriend the satisfaction of being right. "Yeah, I mean, maybe. I dunno. We're not even exclusive yet."

Sasha smacked Dean on the arm and gave him a playful smack on the arm. "Dean. Seriously, and I say this to you as someone who knows how difficult you can be, lock that shit down." She rolled her eyes as Dean began laughing.

"I'm not fucking kidding, at all," she continued, nonplussed by Dean's reaction. "She's a fucking smokeshow, she's a doctor, and she really seems into you. Do not mess this up."

Dean nodded, smiling wryly. "I get it. She's pretty awesome. I just don't know if I'm ready for-"

Sasha's touch to Dean's arm cut off his speaking. Both of them noticed that there was still a remnant of some electricity there, but their conversation wouldn't be derailed by lingering bullshit from years ago.

"Dean, seriously," she continued, powering through, "Becky is amazing. I'm telling you. We were in the kitchen earlier and every single time we asked her about you she started blushing. I know you're still smarting a bit over Renee, but do not let that horrible woman get in the way of a jewel like Becky."

Dean stared at Sasha, considering what she was saying. Finally, after longer than either would have liked, Dean spoke.

"You know, for a long time, I blamed you for Renee. I saw you and Roman together and I got with the next woman that showed me serious interest. And believe me, Renee showed me some serious interest."

Sasha shook her head and rolled her eyes. "Yeah, I know. We all heard about you two hooking up in the Academy chief's office."

Dean grinned widely this time. "Yeah, that shit was legendary."

Sasha rolled her eyes and smacked him on the arm again. "Look, be smart. Okay? She likes you. I can tell you like her, too. Don't be afraid to be open with her. She's not the type that's gonna rip your heart out on purpose."

Dean smiled. "I know. Just...I'm working on it, okay? I only met her a couple weeks ago and I actually think things are going well. I'm trying not to ruin by being...me."

Now it was Sasha's turn to let out a big laugh. "I certainly understand that." She smiled, the same bright toothy grin that used to wrap Dean around her little finger. Sasha, deep down, still had a boatload of affinity for Dean, his reckless nature and boyish charm, and all she truthfully wanted was for her former love to be happy. Dean would always hold a tiny, tiny corner of her heart, and seeing him with a quality girl honestly warmed her spirit. She also knew Dean's proclivity for messing up the best things in his life. So, Sasha decided, she would help and encourage him, especially if it meant he and Roman could start getting along. She sighed deeply. It was weird having Dean back in her life after all this time, and yet something felt right about it. She drew in a breath to talk about their topic in common again.

"Okay, Dean, I think I made my point. I just really enjoyed talking to her. I think she suits you. Like, really well. She's headstrong and confident and hot and won't take shit off of you. Be smart. You won't do better than her." Sasha snickered. "I'm not sure there IS better than her."

Dean smirked and shook his head. "You trying to play matchmaker now?"

Sasha rolled her eyes. "Forgive me for wanting to see you happy. I'll never make that mistake again."

Her feelings were a little hurt now. Sasha was doing her best to be nice, and all Dean wanted to do was be a jerk. She turned to walk back into the party, before Dean clasped her arm with his hand.

"Sash, look," he retorted, an air of compromise in his voice. "It's just weird having my 'big ex' tell me how great my new potential girlfriend is. I promise I'll get over it soon."

Sasha motioned for him to follow her as she headed back toward the warmth of the family room.

"Good." She hesitated, before lighting up once again. "Oh, and save me a dance."

Dean's look turned from resolute to confused. "The hell are you talking about?"

Sasha grinned back at Dean, enjoying knowing something that he didn't. "You'll see."

* * *

The ride back to Becky's apartment wasn't nearly short enough for Dean's taste. He thought it was funny how he could wish for time to go slower on the way somewhere, yet for it to go faster on the return to that same place. Dean was into Becky. There was really no other way to say it. He was as intrigued by a future with her as she apparently was with a future with him. As her residence building crossed the horizon, growing closer by the second, he felt her warm hand relax in his. He found the sensation oddly comforting, and the company of this intoxicating young woman unlike anything he'd ever experienced before.

Dean pulled into a parking spot near the front of Becky's building. Sliding his truck's gear shift into "park," he looked over at the radiant Irishwoman occupying the seat next to his. She unbuckled her seat belt and leaned close to her date, drawing in and giving him another of the kisses that were becoming more and more frequent. After way too short a session for Dean's liking, Becky pulled away, a bashful smile on her face.

"Sorry, boyo, I jus' li'e kissin' ya. It's been a while since I though' enough a someone tah want tah kiss 'em this much."

She raised Dean's hand, which was still entwined with her own, and planted another kiss on the back of his hand. Dean, who was trying not to get lost in the eyes of this gorgeous soul, realized she was expecting him to say something.

"Yeah," he answered softly. "There's absolutely no need to apologize. I like kissing you, too."

If either of the pair currently in the truck has been paying attention to anything other than their growing affection for each other, they'd have seen the snow beginning to fall harder. But they weren't. So instead they kissed again, Becky's face pressed against Dean's, and tried to forget everything but each other. After another beat, Becky broke off the kiss, opened her eyes, and remembered what she was going to say to Dean.

"So," she began, somewhat hesitantly, "I 'ave somethin' I need tah ask ya."

Dean nodded anxiously.

"The mayor is throwin' a New Year's Eve party tah benefi' the new children's wing o' the hospi'al. It's gonna be a real fancy party. Open bar, great food, dancin'. I didn' wanna go, bu' now tha' we been ou' a coupla times, i' migh' no' be so bad if ya go with me."

Dean chuckled. Deep down, it thrilled his soul that this woman had asked him to something like that. Before he responded, one thought occurred to him.

"Wait," he returned slyly, "are Roman and Sasha going? Did you tell her you were gonna ask me?"

Becky nodded shyly, the bashful smile Dean loved so much crossing her lips.

"I did."

"Huh," Dean mused. "That's why she asked me to save her a dance."

Becky's smile turned wry, and a bit playfully annoyed. "Tha' bitch," she called in mock indignation. "Tryin' tah steal mah da'e!"

She shook her head, before feeling Dean's hand rest softly on her chin. Pulling her face back to him, he kissed her, quickly but passionately, and smiled.

"I'd love to, babydoll."

"Good," Becky returned in relief, "because I bough' two tickets after we ha' our firs' da'e."

The young man snickered playfully. "You did?"

Becky smiled and nodded, pulling hair from her face and resting it behind her ear. "Aye, I did. I was hopin' ya'd go wit' me."

Dean returned the show of affection Becky gave him earlier, lifting her hand to his mouth and kissing it softly. "I'm already lookin' forward to it."

Becky sighed with relief. "Good." She softly pulled her hand from Dean's, sliding her stocking hat over her head. "Now, Dean, understandin' tha' sex is off the table, would ya li'e to come upstairs an' ge' yer presen'?"

Dean snickered. While he hoped to get intimate with Becky sooner rather than later, he wasn't going to turn down any chance to spend time with Dr. Becky Lynch. Reaching behind the seat, he nodded. "Yeah, I got something for you, too. It's not much, but given how little time we've actually spent together it was the best I could do. Next Christmas I'll really nail it."

Becky's eyes twinkled as she tilted her head to one side and raised her eyebrows. "Ya think you'll still be aroun' a year from now, Ambrose?"

Dean snickered. "Yeah, unless you get tired of me."

Rather than answering verbally, Becky simply leaned into Ambrose and kissed him. Softly, slowly, and with as much tongue as she thought she could get away with without compromising her "no sex tonight" decision.

After a minute or two, Becky felt Dean's hand start to move from where it'd landed on her waist, exploring to her upper torso. As it came to rest on her breast, Becky moaned into Dean's lips, but moved her hand onto his and replaced it on her hip. Breaking the kiss and sighing deeply, Becky spoke her mind.

"Dean, I'm serious. I'm startin' tah think I migh' li'e yah, like, more than a l'il. And I've made mistakes in the pas' wit' gettin' too serious too fas'. Le' me take it slow, an' I promise, when I feel like it's the righ' time, it'll be min' blowin'."

Dean snickered, though he nodded his head in agreement. "Okay. But I want it noted for the record that I was promised 'mind blowing.'"

Becky chuckled, trying not to let Dean see how red her face was turning. She drew a deep breath, glanced up at Dean, and attacked his mouth with hers.

After a few more minutes, Becky pulled away from Dean again, though this time, she took the tiniest nibble of Dean's lower lip when she pulled away. She gave the now bewildered Ambrose the most sultry look he'd seen from her yet.

"Aye. Min' blowin'. Now c'mon," she replied, changing topics, "le's go in an' get ya yer gif'. Maybe you'll stay an' have a beer?"

Before any further making out could commence, Becky threw open the passenger door, shivering visibly at the bitter cold, and motioned for Dean to follow her.

"Le's go, Ambrose! I will leave ya ou' 'ere!" Becky steeled herself against the frigid wind and walked quickly toward the front walk of her apartment building. Dean shook his head, pulled the small bag Becky's gift was in from behind the seat, pulled the hood of the sweatshirt he was wearing under his jacket over his head, locked his truck tightly, and followed the beautiful doctor into her building.

* * *

Becky's apartment was fucking cold. That was Dean's first thought. Immediately, Becky's face turned to an alarmed look.

"The fuck?" She asked no one in particular. "Did Bayley turn the 'eat off?"

Dean scanned the living room that Becky's door opened into. It was a beautiful apartment. Whoever had been responsible for turning an old factory into loft apartments did an exceptional job. Floor to ceiling windows in the living room led to high wooden-braced ceilings. Brick interior walls gave an aged look to the unit. A fireplace on the far wall looked like it had once been a smokestack that originated in the basement and had carried billowing industrial smoke from all levels of the building out into the atmosphere. He noticed that all visible clocks were blinking, but they weren't at twelve a clock.

"I think the power must've gone out earlier. Sometimes at my house when that happens and the power comes back on, the heat doesn't turn over. I bet that's what happened."

Becky nodded. It made sense. At that moment, though, all she could think about was how cold it was in her residence. Quickly crossing to the thermostat, she checked the digital readout and tried not to scream.

"It's for'y one degrees in 'ere, Ambrose!" She exclaimed, turning the control off and back on. She shivered again and glanced back at her guest. "I'm so sorry i's so bad!"

Dean grinned and slowly sauntered over to where Becky was. Sliding his arms around her waist from behind, his heart skipped a beat when she laid her head back against his chest.

"It's not a problem, Doctor Pretty Lady. We'll just have to sit a little closer. Now," he continued, turning Becky to face him, "I believe I was promised a beer and a gift. How 'bout we do that?"

Becky's grin couldn't be contained. "Aye, Ambrose, I'll ge' righ' on tha'."

And she did. And Becky, for all the things she'd never had to be, was an excellent hostess. As she waited with Ambrose for her surroundings to warm up, she did her best to make him a bit more than comfortable. She brought him a beer and warmed some cookies she'd baked a day or two before. She'd even allowed Dean to build and light a fire in their fireplace. Up until that night, she hadn't been a hundred percent sure the fireplace even worked. After a minute or so of fiddling. Dean assured her that it did, and so her icy apartment began to soak in the warmth radiating from the fireplace.

And now, Becky and Dean found themselves relaxing on Becky's couch. Each had an open beer in front of them, and the television was pumping out Christmas programming in front of them, though they weren't particularly interested in the offerings.

"Ok, so, I go' yer presen' 'ere, Ambrose." Becky smiled sincerely at him. "Bu' I bough' it before I knew I wanted ta see ya as much as I do." She smiled and presented Dean with a large gift bag, while Dean rubbed his hands together in anticipation.

"Is it a pony?" He asked, clearly joking.

"Jus' open it, smarty," Becky responded. Dean dug into the tissue paper protruding from the large bag, layer by layer, until he ran into the bag's most valued contents.

"Holy shit, Irish whiskey," Dean cried out, though it wasn't much above a whisper.

"Yeh, they make i' in muh 'ome town, an' I though' ya migh' li'e it." Becky responded, trying not to betray how excited she was that Dean liked it.

"This is fantastic, Becky. How did you know I like whiskey?"

Becky giggled and shrugged. "I figured ya would appreciate a good whiskey. I's the smoothest I've ever 'ad." She scooted a bit closer to Ambrose on the couch, smiling at him. "I figured we could crack it open in a bit?"

Dean chuckled again. "Absolutely, Doctor Pretty Lady." He scanned the label, marveling at how strong the alcohol appeared to be. Then he remembered his own gift.

"Oh, shit, I forgot my gift for you." Dean handed Becky a smaller bag, though he seemed just as proud of his as she did of hers. "Again, I didn't really know you that well yet, and this gift just screamed 'buy me for Becky.'"

The Irish girl giggled. "I apprecia'e the though', Ambrose. Le's see wha' ya go' fer me?" She tore into the bag excitedly, finding a scented candle. She opened it, taking in its aroma for the first time.

"It's actually quite lovely, Ambrose, and very thoughtful." She leaned into him and kissed him on the cheek. "I'll ligh' it up righ' away. Thank ya, Dean."

She disappeared from Dean's field of vision, enthusiastically heading to find a lighter and fill the room with the fragrance Dean brought for her.

He heard the flicking sound of a cigarette lighter, followed closely by a soft humming as Becky set the lit candle on the mantle above the now roaring fireplace. She smiled back at Dean as he watched her in rapt attention.

"So, you got to use my gift, wanna get into mine?" Dean asked, trying to think of any reason not to leave Becky's presence. The redhead squinted at him skeptically.

"Are ya tryin' ta ge' me drunk, Ambrose?"

Dean shrugged, giving the beauty a wink and a smile. "I mean, I'm not NOT trying to get you drunk."

Becky giggled. "Fair enough. I'll ge' us a coupla glasses."

And that's how it went. Becky brought two short drinking glasses into the living room, pouring herself and Dean almost exactly two fingers worth of Irish whiskey. After chatting for a minute, they began discussing their favorite Christmas movies. Dean insisted that **Die Hard** was not only a Christmas movie, but the best Christmas movie ever. Becky stood her ground, clinging to **National Lampoon's Christmas Vacation.** Following a few minutes of friendly banter, Dean relenting to watching Becky's favorite movie.

It was a good thing he did, because before the Griswolds grandparents had arrived on screen, Becky was snuggled as close to Dean as physics would allow. Her head rested securely on his shoulder, her arms hooked around his right arm, and her hand intertwined with his. Becky, for as much distance as she tried to keep at her emotional surface, was complete putty in the hands of Dean Ambrose. Lucky for her, Dean felt the exact same way about her. He hung on her every word, though she didn't know it, and so the two found themselves in a wonderful, precarious situation.

Still noticeably chilly in her apartment, Becky paused the movie to procure blankets for the two of them. The fire was helping as well, but given that the outside temperature was somewhere in the teens, Becky's living room was still an uninviting frozen tundra, and so physical proximity was the best thing either of the two people involved in this scenario could offer the other.

Becky leaned into Dean and grinned. "I love this movie."

Dean grinned, certain Becky was watching his reaction. "I like it too." He felt her head lean against his shoulder, and his insides warmed like they hadn't in some time.

They stayed that way for a while, Becky latched onto Dean, the two of them depending on each other for body heat, Becky sighing contentedly every few minutes.

Both of them were asleep before the movie was over. As they stirred awake, a bit later, Dean glanced at the clock, finding that it told him a time he wasn't happy with. He leapt from his couch seat, worried about the late hour and making sure Becky didn't feel awkward or pressured. She moaned softly as she stirred, her comfort zone harshly dispersed by Dean's shenanigans.

"Wha's wrong, boyo?" She asked, not completely sure what was happening.

Dean scoffed. "We fell asleep. Because we're super interesting."

Becky hid her face in embarrassment and chuckled softly. "I'm so excitin'." Grinning, she leaned into Ambrose and softly kissed his cheek.

"So, i's la'e, an' the roads are gettin' bad. Rememberin' tha' sex is off the table...probably," she continued, peeking out the window, "would ya like ta stay 'ere?"

Dean's brow furrowed in disbelief. "Really?"

Becky nodded softly. "Aye. I'd worry if ya tried ta drive to yer 'ouse righ' now, and, honestly, it'd be nice not ta wake up alone on Christmas mornin'."

That last comment touched Dean deeply. Last Christmas had been rough for him. Renee hadn't officially left him yet, but she'd gone to her parents house in Canada for the holidays. She'd begged Dean to come with her, to try to "work on their relationship," but Dean had been too focused on the disappearance of the last of the five girls to leave town. When Renee returned, after New Year's, she'd served him with divorce papers. It still pained Dean to think about.

"Yeah, that would be nice," Dean responded, sliding his arm around Becky.

"Bu' remember," she said, pointing her first finger in Dean's face, "no funny business. I'm serious. Yer 'ands stay above the wais'. Understand?"

Dean grinned. "Yeah."

"Good," Becky replied, before standing and offering her hands to Dean, helping him to stand as well. Both parties stretched their limbs, before Dean peeked out the window facing his truck. He exhaled deeply.

"Well, I always keep a fresh change of workout clothes in my truck in case I want to get some gym time in. It's not getting any warmer. Shit. Okay, I'll be back." Dean headed straight for the door, grabbing Becky's key fob off the coffee table. As soon as he left the apartment, the Irish stunner sprang into action, checking her appearance in the bathroom mirror, making sure the sheets on her bed smelled clean (she often slept at the hospital or on her couch and wasn't sure how long it'd been since they'd been changed). Finding them satisfactory, she moved the candle Dean had gotten her into her bedroom and made sure the tv was working. That way they could pick up the movie where they'd fallen asleep before. She noted that there was still a prevailing chill in the air, so she pulled extra blankets from the closet and laid them folded at the foot of the bed. Finally, deciding the accommodations were as luxurious as they were going to be, Becky slipped into the bathroom to change into her sleep clothes.

As she pulled on her tank top and short jogging shorts, she could hear Dean returning to the loft. She checked herself in the mirror. Despite her "no sex" edict, she was hoping to tantalize Dean a bit with her appearance in her less than modest sleeping apparel, and she admitted to herself that she looked great. She was toned, the product of daily (at minimum) workouts, and her smile was super bright from the almost obsessive care she took of her teeth. "Not bad," she admitted to herself. Sighing contentedly at the circumstances that had brought this incredibly handsome, if not somewhat insane, suitor into her life. She called out to him briefly, letting him know she was in the back, and she chuckled at Dean's heavy footsteps across the hardwood floors.

Before fully opening the bathroom door, she cracked it, peeking with one eye into the adjoining room. Relief washed over her when she saw that it was, in fact, the gentleman lunatic sitting on the side of her bed.

Her relieved giggle rang richly from the high ceilings in her bedroom.

"I was 'opin' ya weren' an intruder." She crossed the room, sliding into a seated position next to Ambrose.

Dean snickered. "Nah. I did think about hiding to scare you."

Becky rolled her eyes and swatted Dean on the arm before allowing him into the bathroom she vacated to change.

As he came out, his heart skipped yet another beat that night. Becky was laying in bed, her smile bright, her hair still up in a ponytail. She winked at him and patted the unoccupied side of the bed.

"Yer side is 'ere. Wha' are ya wai'in fer?"

She ran her hand back and forth on the duvet invitingly, and Dean climbed in slowly, hoping not to disturb any of the pristine decor surrounding the bed. He smiled over at his date, then peered out the window again.

"Damn, I'm glad you didn't make me go home. If I'd have had a breakdown out there, it would've been bad news for your boy."

Becky rolled her eyes, though her grin couldn't be contained. "Well, remember wha' I said, Ambrose. No sex tonigh'."

Dean chuckled again. "Okay."

Becky threw a hand up to stop him. "Bu' I will require a rather serious spoonin'. Tha's the price of admission. Ya keep me warm. We snuggle. Ya give me a kess when I need one. I cook ya breakfast in the mornin'. Is tha' fair?"

Dean pretended to think for a moment. "I mean, I guess, since it's too late to go anywhere."

Becky elbowed him playfully, before pulling the covers up to past her shoulders, prompting Ambrose to do the same. With very little prompting from Becky, Dean slid his arm around her waist, pulling her into him.

Becky sighed in contentment. "Yer warm, Ambrose, ya can stay this close all night if ya want." She giggled a bit, despite herself, trying not to give away how much she was enjoying this latest development. She felt him plant a small kiss on her neck, and she turned her head and found his lips with hers. After much too short a time for either of their liking, Becky broke the kiss, before turning back toward the window, turning off the lamp, and pressing herself even further into Dean's body.

* * *

Dean woke up to several of the more pleasant sensations he'd had in a while. He'd noticed that Becky's side of the bed was empty, but that question was immediately answered by the delectable smells wafting through the air. As Dean stood and stretched, he could tell that the heat had finally done its job, filling the entire apartment with warmth for the first time since they'd entered.

He staggered out into the great room, smile growing on his face as he saw the massive breakfast Becky was preparing.

"'Ay, boyo, Merry Christmas. How'd ya sleep?"

Dean snickered, wandering close to the would-be chef. He slid his hands on her hips from behind, kissing her on the top of the head.

"I slept like a baby."

Becky giggled. "Aye, I know. Ya were snorin' like an old man. It was righ' cu'e."

Dean laughed a bit in response. "I'm glad you liked it."

The red haired girl turned from the stove, lightly kissed the man behind her, then returned to the steaming smorgasbord in progress.

An hour or so later, as the two young professionals sat cuddling on the couch, used plates on the coffee table and Becky tucked snugly under Dean's arm. The parade was on tv, but neither was really watching. Becky was fighting drowsiness, and Dean was thanking his Maker that he wasn't working the parade that year. As the young man started to think about how he could get used to his private utopia, with the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen tucked securely under his arm, he heard his phone begin to rattle.

"Fuuuck," Dean moaned to himself, sliding his iphone into his field of vision. He intently read the incoming message.

 _Ambrose. Sry for ruining Christmas. There's a 273-D at ur old precinct. She says she'll only talk to you._

Dean sprang from his seat, causing Becky to fully wake.

"Wha's wrong, boyo?"

Dean shook his head. "We got a domestic disturbance victim at my old precinct. Apparently the victim says she only wants to talk to me. I gotta go, but I'll be back later?"

Becky nodded. "I'll be 'ere. Bring me some dinner?"

Dean smiled. "Absolutely. Let me know what you want."

With that, Dean grabbed his keys from the aforementioned coffee table and headed for the door.

* * *

 _So, we're gonna pick up the crime stuff soon. Wanted to follow through on Christmas Eve. Don't forget to review, follow, and favorite. Also, my favorite story right now is_ _ **Stamford University.**_ _If you don't, please leave a review._


	6. Chapter 6: Pick a Hand

_Thanks for checking the story out. I'm getting tons of reads. Don't forget to review! I love them. I stan them. I need them._

 _Familiarize yourself with what an ASP defense baton is. Chapter will make much more sense._

 _Again, I'm gonna axe the dialect for Becky. She's pretty much the most famous wrestler on earth now. Y'all know what she sounds like._

 _Sorry, last thing: wanna give a special "thank you" to xXBalorBabeXx. She's the only one whos reviewed every chapter. You're a jewel in this community and we don't deserve you._

Chapter 6: Pick a Hand

Dean strode erratically through the glass double doors into the police precinct he once called "home." He hadn't expected to ever come back on police business, yet here he was, apparently summoned by the complaining witness in a domestic disturbance case. To Dean, that meant one of two things; either the attacker or the attackee was connected to organized crime in Titan City, or the complaining witness was someone he'd dealt with before.

As he strode down the hall, Dean was more relieved than he thought he would to see Sgt. Ray Traylor waiting for him in the open doorway to the large open office, known as the "bullpen." He extended a hand toward his former subordinate, with Dean accepting his handshake without stopping his long strides.

"Sarge, what's going on?"

Traylor pat Dean softly on the shoulder. "Good to see you too, Dean. Have a good Christmas?"

Dean nodded and grunted in the affirmative, though he still wasn't slowing down. "Yeah," he replied. "I thought I'd see you at Naomi's."

Traylor shook his head and snickered. "We were, but then the wife decided we needed to go see my oldest and her kids. She's a pain in the ass, but she's family, so…"

Traylor let his voice trail off. The two officers entered a small hallway of interview rooms behind the main thoroughfare.

"Which one is she in?"

Traylor gestured toward the first door on the left. "Room B."

Dean smiled tightly at Traylor. "I'm in a bit of a rush today, seeing as how it's Christmas and I woke up next to a doctor. Well, I guess she got up before I did, but she was making me eggs, so it still counts."

Traylor nodded. "You wanna get back. I understand."

Dean winked at his former boss. "Yeah. She said something about steak tonight, and she's just fun to be around, so I wanna get out of here as soon as I can."

Traylor clicked his lips and gave Dean another handshake. "I get it. We gotta catch up soon, though. Beers at Anvil's in a couple weeks?"

Dean nodded again. "Count on it. Send me a text when the holidays are over."

"Copy that, Ambrose."

With that, Dean opened the heavy grey door that led to the only occupied interview room in the building that day.

It took the slightly confused Ambrose a few seconds for his brain to register who was sitting at the metal table in front of him. She was wrapped in a blue blanket that was emblazoned with "TCPD" on both the top and bottom in big white block lettering. That was mostly because underneath the blanket was only a thin silk red nightgown that left very little to the imagination. She was apparently barefoot when the responding officers brought her in, because now her dainty feet, as perfectly tanned as the rest of her, were resting in a pair of slip on shoes ordinarily reserved for lockup detainees. It was also clear from her smeared makeup that she'd been crying, and there were also assorted bruises marking her eyes and around her lips.

"Carmella?" Dean asked incredulously. He'd known Carmella Van Dale since childhood, as their mothers were employed at the same place. She'd also attended the same high school as Dean, and their social circles often intertwined. He'd heard in the time since that she'd become romantically linked to Colin Cassady, who was otherwise known in Titan City underworld circles as "Big Cass." Dean was almost instantly certain that Cass was the one who'd put his hands on her.

"Hi, Dean. Long time no see." Carmella answered wryly. She even managed a half smile. Dean pulled the chair facing the battered girl closer to her, trying his best to present a more informal setting for their conversation. He lightly ran his hand back and forth on her shoulder, trying awkwardly to comfort her.

"I heard you asked for me, 'Mell. What's going on?"

The blonde nodded softly. "Yeah. I didn't trust anyone else." Looking at Dean for affirmation, which he gave with a gentle nod of his head, Carmella launched into her tragic tale;

"Cass has always been… volatile. That's kinda how it is with men like him. You know, guys who're connected. He and his boy Enzo started working for Alexandre Rusev last year."

With the mention of that name, Dean's ears perked up.

"Isn't he the imports guy? We've been trying to tie him to human trafficking for like, years. No luck."

Carmella shrugged. "I dunno anything about that. I just know that in the last few months Cass has been making four or five times more money than he was before he started with Rusev."

Dean nodded again, making sure his phone was still recording on the table.

"What set him off?"

Carmella rolled her eyes and shook her head. "Fuck if I know. I asked him for more money for winter clothes for the baby and he lost it. Told me I was wasting the money he already gave me. I said now that he was working for Rusev he could afford more clothes and basic needs for his child. He lost it. Said never to mention that he was working for Rusev again. Then he smacked me. I called him a pussy for hitting a woman and he hit me again."

Dean chuckled quietly at the woman's candor. "Did he say anything about what he was doing for Rusev?"

Carmella snickered and shook her head, rolling her eyes. "Probably sucking his dick. I dunno."

Dean sighed in disappointment. This wasn't getting him anywhere of importance. He'd heard Rusev's name connected to a half dozen different criminal enterprises in Titan City, but neither he nor anyone else had ever been able to make any of the charges stick. Dean was also reasonably sure that Rusev was a top lieutenant for Alberto Del Rio, one of Titan City's "Big three." Del Rio was the reputed king of Titan City's massive and overwhelming drug trade, and he unofficially employed over sixty mid level dealers, enforcers, and "Shopkeepers," or men who organized the drug dealing on street corners and in low-income apartment complexes. He had an iron grip on narcotics, and his empire expanded by the day.

For right now, however, he needed to deal with the problem in front of him. Namely, Carmella and getting her away from the abusive force in her home.

"Listen, Mell," Dean asserted, "you got anywhere you can go? Where's your kid?"

Carmella smiled. "Brady is with my parents for the holiday. They love to spoil him. I was gonna head out to Jersey this morning to see all of them, but then my shitdick boyfriend decided to start slapping me around."

Dean nodded, then thought for a minute. "And you're clean? You're still off the smack?"

Carmella nodded somberly. "Two years sober. I swear."

Dean nodded his head in affirmation. "Good. Okay, I want you to go to your house and pack everything you need for you and the kid. I'm gonna send you with two uniformed cops, so everybody knows not to fuck with you. We're gonna get you someplace safe, unless you want to stay. I can't force you to leave."

Carmella shook her head. "Fuck that motherfucker. I never want to see him again."

"Good," Dean replied. "You got a job or something?"

Carmella's face washed over with sadness. "No. I stayed home with Brady after he was born. It's gonna be a bitch to find a job. I got no college, no real references-"

Dean cut her off. "You good at answering phones? Faxes? We need someone to run our office over at Major Crimes, and I haven't been able to do any interviews. Been too busy. The job is yours if you think you can do it."

Carmella grinned and nodded in the affirmative. "I'm good as hell at that. I did it at the rehab center after I was clean. Does it have medical for me and the baby?"

Dean snickered. "Yeah. You get the same benefits we do. Starts tomorrow at 8 am. At the old Pittman fixture warehouse. That's 'base camp' for us. You good with that?"

Unable to wipe the grin off her face, Carmella nodded brightly. "I am. I just need a place to live. Cass took care of all that."

Dean nodded. He was also texting furiously on his phone. "Okay, I think I got a safehouse for you and Brady. Is your number still the same?"

Carmella's eyebrows raised in curiosity. "You still have my number?"

Dean nodded. "Yep. I never delete a contact. Unless she like, lights my sneakers on fire or something." He grinned at Carmella, mostly because her reaction was a serious deluge of laughter. "Someone will text you with an address by three PM. Go pack and we will get you to the safest spot in Titan City."

Carmella smiled more broadly this time, grateful for everything Dean was doing for her. "This is why I asked for you," she bantered playfully. "I just knew you'd take care of me."

She slid her arms around Dean's neck, giving his cheek a friendly kiss. Trying not to smile, Dean gave her a dismissive wave of her hand. "Officer Fatu is out there. Her first name is Naomi. She'll take you to your house and help you get away from that piece of garbage. Unless you'd rather stay with your parents?"

Carmella contemplated this for a moment. "Well, Cass is scared shitless of my mom's family. They're sicilians. Old school. My uncle Franco would cut his fucking heart out. Maybe I should just stay over there."

Dean snickered and raised his eyebrows. "Yeah, sounds safer there than anything we could do. Do I need to worry about anything in your background check if I give you this job? What with your apparent mafia ties?"

Carmella smiled slyly, but shook her head. "My family does a good job not getting us kids caught up in all the bullshit. I don't know anything, and my name isn't connected to anything. Truthfully, I only see my uncle and his family on holidays. He and my mom aren't close, since she didn't marry a 'wiseguy.' But that's a long story."

Dean smiled. "Yeah, today isn't the day for one of those." Dean searched through the manila folder left for him by Traylor marked "relocation." It was a collection of loose paperwork and various small gift cards and other items meant to ease a battered woman's transition out of an abusive home. He thumbed through a few envelopes quickly, until he found the correct one.

"Look," he continued, "I don't know how you or your family is situated here, but I got a little relocation gift here. There's a few gift cards for restaurants in here. Baby stuff. Furnishings. Things like that. You interested?"

Carmella lifted her eyebrows and tried her best to look coy, despite her current state. "You gonna come with us to the restaurant? My mom always asks about you."

Dean grinned. Mrs. Van Dale had been close with his mom, and there were times when the Carmella and Dean were growing up in proximity to each other where one of them had been interested in the other. Dean was a couple of years older than Carmella, but she'd been a cheerleader while he played football, and had it not been for Sasha, Dean could've seen himself getting together with her. But that had been before Carmella spent the bulk of her twenties making questionable life choices. She'd gotten addicted to heroin after a bad semester at college and ended up prostituting herself for drugs. Her downward spiral landed her with some rough people, and even though she'd gotten clean, she hadn't been able to completely shake loose of Titan City's criminal underworld. Hence her relationship with Cass.

Dean noticed that she was waiting for an answer. "Well, I would, but I'm seeing someone. It like, just happened." He slid his hand over hers, patting her lightly. "You have like, the worst timing ever."

Both parties shared a deep laugh. Dean stood first, intending to add a stop to his planned itinerary for the day. Carmella stood after, wrapping Dean again in her arms. She'd always been what Dean would call an "overhugger," often cradling Dean's head with one hand while pulling him close to her. When Dean was single, it wasn't the worst feeling in the world. Now, though, it seemed borderline inappropriate. This one time, however, given what Carmella had already been through that day, Dean was willing to let it slide.

Carmella broke the embrace after a moment. She smiled up at Dean, and briefly took one of his hands to squeeze.

"Thank you, Dean. So much. I swear, I am done with that piece of shit this time."

Dean nodded vigorously. "Good. Is Cass at the house now?"

Carmella chortled and shook her head. "Hell no. He's down at the docks doing...whatever the fuck he's doing down there. I know it isn't honest dock work, though."

That statement piqued Dean's curiosity. "What makes you say that?"

Carmella rolled her eyes. "My dad was a longshoreman for a while. He did it between his other jobs." She took Dean's hand again, opening it with her own and running a finger across his palm. "When my dad did longshore work, he'd come home and his hands would be calloused and rough. They felt way worse than sandpaper."

Dean wasn't sure where Carmella was going. He gently pulled away from the small girl, and she indicated nonverbally that she understood why. After a moment, Dean prompted her to finish her thought.

"Oh, sorry," she continued. "It's just that Cass goes down there four or five times a week for like, twelve hours a day. He says he's down there working but…" she trailed off, deep in thought. "His hands have never, ever, been nearly as rough as my dad's."

Dean's eyes raised at this new thought from Carmella. Still, he had to eliminate the most simple explanation. "I mean, he could be wearing gloves."

Carmella shook her head. "He doesn't. He's constantly getting texts from numbers I don't recognize and he told me once he couldn't keep taking them on and off. Whatever he's doing down there, it isn't work."

Dean nodded again. "Well, I probably owe Cass a friendly chat. Is he on the docks today?"

Carmella tried to hide her knowing smirk. "You're gonna go see Cass?"

Dean nodded, giving a tight-lipped, humorless smile. "Yeah. I wanna talk to him about what happens when you smack around women a quarter your size. You wanna press charges?"

Carmella shook her head. "No. It won't do any good. Rusev, and whoever Rusev is working for, have this hotshot lawyer that gets everyone out of everything anyway. Somebody Heyman. I just want a restraining order. And a divorce lawyer, but I can take care of that second part."

Dean nodded for what felt like the millionth time, quickly rattling off another text. "I'm texting the family advocate Judge right now. She owes me a couple favors after I did some extra protective duty. I can get that restraining order by the end of the day. One of the officers here will bring it out to your parent's house. Just leave the address with . I'll let him know what's happening."

Carmella smiled and wiped away a tear. "Thank you again, Dean. You're the only cop in this city I trust, and I'm glad I asked for you." She kissed Dean on the cheek again, this time more chastely, purely in gratitude for everything he'd done for her.

"It's no problem, Mell. Just get out of that house before Cass gets home. I get the feeling he's gonna be...delayed."

The blonde, tanned waif smiled brighter. "You gonna work him over?"

Dean shook his head. "Nah, we're just gonna have a chat. All the same, don't be there when he gets home. I'm gonna make sure Officer Fatu is one of the officers that goes to the house with you. She's my old partner. I trust her. You can, too."

She nodded. "Okay. I believe you." She pulled the large blue blanket over her shoulders again, trying to cover herself. Dean shrugged his jacket off in a single motion and carefully wrapped Carmella in it.

"Thank you," she softly intimated.

"No problem. Just leave it with Officer Fatu after you get dressed. Deal?"

Carmella grinned and nodded. Before Dean could turn away and leave, however, she pulled him in for one more hug. Part of him thought she was just trying to give him one more chance to accept one of her subtle advances, but he felt her warm tears on the side of his face and he understood how traumatic the experience had been for her. While Dean normally wasn't one to comfort or empathize, he did his best, gently running his hand up and Carmella's back.

"Seriously, Dean. I don't know how I ended up in this mess. But thank you. Not just for coming her on Christmas Day, but for the job and everything. You're a good friend."

Dean chuckled. "Don't tell anyone. I don't need them knowing."

After giving Carmella another minute or so to regain her composure, Dean guided her out into the bullpen. Traylor was waiting there, as was Naomi Fatu, who was working early shift that morning. Naomi kept Carmella moving, winking at Dean over the blonde girl's shoulder.

"See ya, Mell," he called toward his old friend as she waved at him, grinning. Naomi waved at him too, indicating that she'd text him later.

Dean turned toward Traylor.

"You wanna head down to the docks?" He asked the larger officer, smirk beginning to spread across his face.

"What're you gonna do down there?" Traylor asked cautiously, not sure what Dean was getting at.

Dean stopped, smirked, and looked over at Titus O'Neil. Titus was an old squadmate of Dean's, and he looked bored out of his mind at his desk. Holidays were almost always to one extreme or the other; insane, with calls coming in every minute, or quiet as a church. Today looked to be the latter. "A little action might do Titus good," Dean mused internally.

"Tell you what, Sargeant, you go with Naomi and Carmella. Make sure Mell gets all her stuff out. Who else is here?"

Traylor thought for a moment. "Breeze is here. Detective Gunn. He's got command if I leave. Phoenix is here, and Tyler Reks and Joe Seanoa are on call. They're in the squad room now sleeping."

Ambrose nodded. "So if you leave, you've still got anything less severe than a riot covered."

Traylor snickered. "Yeah."

Dean grinned. "Good." The scraggly-haired detective turned toward O'Neil. "Titus!?"

Titus snapped out of a trance. "What's up, Dean?"

Dean scoffed and fought the smirk that rose across his countenance. "Ride with me. I'm gonna ask Colin Cassady to pick a hand."

* * *

Finding Colin Cassady, even on Christmas Day, was pretty easy. Titan City's docks were amongst the busiest in the world, but "Big Cass" wasn't an ironic nickname. Cassidy was at least six feet ten inches tall, and he stuck out like a sore thumb amongst the rest of the men hustling and bustling along the shoreline.

"You straight with the gameplan?" Dean asked Titus.

"Man, I'm not sure this is a good idea."

Dean chortled quickly. "It's a terrible fucking idea. I'm still doing it."

Titus returned a nervous chuckle. "And you're sure Carmella doesn't want to press charges?"

Dean nodded, his mind briefly flashing back to his childhood friend. "All she wants is to be free of him. But he's a woman-beating piece of shit. He deserves this."

Titus smiled back at Dean. "Then I say let's give it to him."

Pausing briefly to carefully slide an unknown item of each leather jacket sleeve, Dean shoved the door to his truck open. Titus, knowing what Dean was about to do, shook his head and chuckled.

Both men began walking briskly toward a cluster of rough looking longshoreman gathered near a garbage barrel fire. Dean immediately picked out Colin Cassady, both from the description he'd received from Carmella AND a brief perusal of her social media. Almost running toward the giant man, Dean called out to him in his most intimidating voice.

"COLIN CASSADY!?"

The man he was addressing turned curiously toward Dean and Titus. His face bore a combination of bemusement and disbelief.

"Yeah?" He responded, trying to sound intimidating.

"Pick a hand!" Dean extended both of his closed fists toward the much larger man, not breaking stride.

"What?"

"Pick a hand, motherfucker."

Cassady was full-on angry now. "Fuck you. This is private property."

Dean winked over at Titus. He was within arms length of Cassady now. "Have it your way." As quick as a flash, Dean swung his left arm toward Cassady's leg. In one motion, the object he'd slid into his left sleeve found its way into Dean's hand, the ASP baton extending itself to full length in one arc of Dean's arm. The baton found its mark; the sweet spot on the outside of the big man's leg.

"Fuck!" Cassady exclaimed, a split second after Dean's blow made contact. Before anyone could say anything else, Dean's other arm started its movement toward the center of Colin's mass. A small taser, fully charged, found its way into Dean's grip. Ambrose pulled the trigger, sending a massive amount of voltage through Colin Cassady's body.

It was a low voltage. It wasn't even enough to render Colin Cassady incapacitated. What it did do, however, was bring the giant fully to his knees. Dean scoffed, throwing his knee directly into Colin's face. It connected with all the disdain Ambrose had for woman-beaters all concentrated into about four square inches. That herculean strike planted Colin fully on his back. Dean landed a few more blows with the ASP to the torso of Cassady for good measure.

"Don't ever go near Carmella again. Understand?" Dean growled, his anger nearly getting the best of him. Rather than a coherent response, Colin just groaned. As Cassady finished his incomprehensible utterance, Dean struck him a few more times across his ribs to make his point.

"I asked if you understood, you ugly motherfucker," Dean continued, trying to reign in his rage. Colin nodded, which took every bit of strength in his body.

"Good," Dean answered. "I'd hate to have to come back." He took a step back before landing several kicks and stomps to Cassady's abdominal area.

"Dean, let's go!" Titus exclaimed, making a mental note of the growing crowd around this confrontation.

"Show me you understand, bitch."

Colin nodded, mustering every ounce of awareness he had left. Dean landed another long strike to Cassady before sheathing the baton and briskly moving toward his truck. Titus climbed quickly back into the passenger's side, and the two plainclothes cops headed far away from their mild indiscretions.

* * *

 _A little action, finally. We'll do the New Year's Party and reveal more baddies next chapter. Review._


	7. Chapter 7: Auld Acquaintances And New

_Thanks for all the feedback. Review. That's the best thing you can do for me._

 _Also, this won't be a "mystery" story, per se. If you want a mystery, go read the exceptional_ _ **Internal Affairs**_ _from_ _ **ThatWrestlingFanWrites.**_ _He's a phenomenal writer. He might also be my biological son. This will be a procedural. I'm hoping to tie everything up in about 30 chapters._

Chapter 7: Auld Acquaintances. And new.

There was nothing that could've happened the rest of Christmas Day that was going to top Dean's lightning-quick rendezvous with Colin Cassady. He'd dropped Titus back at the old precinct, gotten a text confirmation from Naomi that the restraining order had been dropped off at Cass's apartment AND that Carmella was safely with Brady and her parents, and swung by the industrial space that was going to be the headquarters for Major Crimes. The place was deserted, as it was Christmas, but it looked like Zack Ryder had done some substantial installation regarding fiber optic internet cables and high speed processors. Dean wanted to grab a couple of files on some of his prospective hires over the next few days.

Tomorrow he'd be meeting AJ Styles. A distinguished officer in Atlanta's formidable "anti-gang task force," AJ was considered one of the country's foremost experts on how to isolate and eliminate various elements in street gang and organized crime activity. AJ was moving to Titan City to be closer to his children, and Dean understood that what was Georgia's loss was his gain.

There was Christian Cage and Chris Jericho. They were both previously of the Royal Canadian Mounted Police, and understood every facet of the rampant human trafficking from Toronto and Montreal into Titan City. Unlike with narcotics, it was actually quite easy to smuggle sex workers and illegals both into and out of Canada. There were weak spots along the border that could easily be exploited by focused traffickers with a working knowledge of the terrain and the underground sensors that served as the primary protection of the paths into America's neighbor to the north. Their inclusion in this cutting edge unit came as a courtesy from a law enforcement agency as eager to solve the smuggling crisis as Major Crimes was going to be.

Seth Rollins was a SWAT team sharpshooter from Chicago. Widely regarded as the top performer in the midwest in his field, Seth came to Titan City to escape the doldrums of his life in the windy city. Dean was delighted that he was going to be able to employ him to de-escalate hostage situations and provide longe range cover for his own incursion team.

The last file Dana prepared for him was on Charlotte Flair. Her dossier might have impressed him the most of any of the latest candidates. A graduate of Cornell University, and a former 2nd Lieutenant of the United States Army, Charlotte built her reputation flying Apache helicopter missions in Afghanistan and Iraq, both for the Army and for a private defense contractor after she'd been honorably discharged. She'd spent two additional years training pilots for the Army. It also didn't escape Ambrose that her attached photo made her look like one of those scandinavian bikini models.

All in all, as Ambrose came to surmise, his team was taking shape nicely. But all of that could wait a week.

* * *

Right now, Dean was focused on getting back over to Becky's. She told him she was in the mood to cook, and with as tasty as breakfast had been, Ambrose was anxious to get back to the cocoon of joy "Doctor Pretty Lady" had hastily crafted the pair of them.

He got into and out of his house as quickly as his needs would allow. A quick shower did wonders for his energy level, and a change of his clothes helped his appearance tremendously. Feeling optimistic about another invite to stay at Becky's apartment, Dean also replenished his extra clothes for his truck. He packed his toothbrush and other accessories, knowing they could make a real difference as to whether or not the gorgeous physician wanted him to stick around another night.

Dean did reach into his fridge for a beer, pouring it into an old plastic cup he'd gotten as a giveaway at some sporting event years back. He shouldered his bag, briskly strode toward the door, and set about his mission; get back to Becky and spend as much time with her as possible.

The drive back over to Becky's seemed to get longer and longer every time he made it. It was less than five miles, yet it felt like the grand canyon separated Dean from his destination. What was concerning to Ambrose was how eager he was to see Becky again when he'd just been with her earlier that morning. Taking the drive as casually as he could, his pulse quickened as he turned into a parking spot out in front of the red brick building that served as Becky's abode. He called up to her room by pressing a button, before hearing a buzz that indicated he was being let into the facility. Up the stairs he went, until he arrived outside Becky's unit. The door opened, she grinned, that wonderful, vivacious grin that he was becoming hopelessly addicted to, and she took his hands, pulling him playfully but forcefully into her apartment.

And that was how it went for the next week. Becky had asked for the time between Christmas and New Year's off, months before she'd even met Dean, and so the serendipity of her circumstance meant that she could take her new love interest lunch every day as he toiled at some of the more mundane administrative aspects of his new position. He'd hired everyone in the first set of dossiers Dana had given him, and now Charlotte, Seth, Chris, Christian, and AJ were on laptop computers scattered around the warehouse, orientating themselves with the Major Crimes operating procedures and their new duties.

Roman Reigns had also been making regular appearances. He'd been interviewing candidates for the remaining spots on his heavy incursion team, and so far Ryan "Ryback" Reeves and Alex Riley were hires that Reigns felt good about. But what interested Dean the most was the days when Sasha Banks-Reigns, pregnant belly and bright grin, would come striding into Major Crimes' base of operations as though she owned the place, arms full of takeout bags to enjoy with her husband. Dean did get a chuckle out of one such instance, however. After being asked by Roman what he wanted for lunch, and Dean giving a detailed answer, Sasha showed up with a burger and fries, telling Dean he needed to get some 'junk in his trunk.'" It made everyone involved happy that Dean could laugh about that callback, especially Roman, and even Becky got a kick out of the story when she heard it.

And then there were the evening times. Dean would leave work, hit the gym, and either meet Becky at Anvil's or at her apartment. Dean's favorite time of day was quickly becoming that first moment that he saw Becky. She'd greet him warmly, her gentle Irish brogue making his soul tingle. She'd ask him how his day was and open a beer for him. It was almost as though the two were wandering their way into a committed relationship.

The only part of their relationship that wasn't taking the next step was the physical. There had been an increase in what high schoolers would call "making out," with Becky and Dean both doing an amount of kissing that would've caused either to blush if done in public, but things didn't truly escalate until three days before the New Year's Eve ball, when, while doing the horizontal kissing the two were becoming used to, either on the couch in front of a roaring fire or in Becky's bed, the breathtaking redhead found her hand wandering inside the front of Dean's pants. She'd really liked what she found, but it was crucial to her to not jump the gun when it came to physical relations with the erratic cop. Dean had also had his moment of trial, when his hand found itself pleasantly nestled underneath Becky's knit sweater, coming into contact with her bare breast for the first time. She'd moaned softly with abject pleasure, and allowed Dean to continue his reconnaissance work for a moment, but she'd ultimately pulled his hand to her hip again, reminding him of her "mind blowing" promise.

The day of the Mayor's Ball came sooner than Dean realized. He'd gotten his suit dry cleaned, though he'd opted to leave the tie at home, and even bought a small corsage for his date. It was becoming almost painful how much Dean was into Becky. In fact, if things went well at the Charity event, Dean planned on speaking to the redhead about exclusivity.

"Time to 'lock that shit down' like Sasha said," he muttered to himself as he stared himself down in his bathroom mirror, carefully shaving for the first time in a while. Becky would've never come out and said it, but Dean had inferred from some off-handed comments she'd made over the last few days that it was important to her to really impress her boss. As a result, Dean was careful to consider every aspect of his appearance for the evening.

After showering, shaving, and brushing his teeth, Dean pulled on his custom-made suit. He hadn't actually worn it in some time. In fact, the last time he'd donned the suit, it was for the court date in which his divorce had been finalized. After such a devastating occasion, Dean hadn't found another reason to put his suit on. But for Becky, Dean rationalized, he would absolutely face down his mournful past.

And it was worth it. Dean parked out front of Becky's building, as he always did, and dutifully pressed the button to be "buzzed" up to Becky's housing unit. The anticipation of seeing the breathtaking surgeon in whatever she'd chosen for attire on that fateful evening was beginning to gnaw at the pit of the officer's stomach.

All of his trepidation turned to elation, however, when Becky bashfully opened her door, allowing Ambrose to take in all of her beauty for the first time that night. She was glamorously adorned in a dark blue-green evening dress, the sequins catching the overhead lights just perfectly. Her matching shoes made her face closer to Dean's, and he took advantage by planting a lengthy, tongue-filled kiss on his date.

"Hey, Dean," she began, still on a high from the kiss he'd laid on her.

"Hey, doctor pretty lady," Dean rasped in return. "You look absolutely stunning."

Becky tried not to blush, though her grin revealed how flattered she was by Dean's positive reinforcement of her appearance.

"Thank you, Dean. You clean up pretty good yourself."

Dean smiled in return. "Thanks, beautiful. You ready?"

Becky gave her date a look up and down. After a second, she remembered something from earlier that day. "I got you something," she asserted, the grin growing wide on her face. She tailed off into her apartment, before returning with a small gift bag.

"I bought this for you when I bought my dress. This way we'll match." She divided some tissue paper with her hand, pulling out a tie that matched the color of her formal dress.

"I know you're not normally a tie guy, Dean, but my boss and his boss are both going to be there, and I really want to make sure we look dynamite for this event."

Dean sighed deeply. In an instant, his brain was waging an internal war between making Becky happy and fighting for his individualism. He hated ties. A ton. But he also wanted to make his Irish angel happy.

"I'll tie it for you," she lilted, trying her best to convey how important him wearing the tie was to her without expressly saying it.

Dean smiled, running his hand lightly up and down her arm. "I'll wear it, Beck. Since you want me to."

Becky's smile grew even brighter, and she impulsively threw her arms around Dean's neck.

"Thank you, Dean. That means a lot." She held the man in her arms another moment, letting her fully feel her against him, before pecking him on the lips. She grinned at him, before pulling him gently into her apartment by the lapels, wanting to help him finish getting ready for their special evening.

* * *

Settling into their table in the ballroom at the historic Tunney Hotel in downtown Titan City, Dean didn't want to admit how good a time he was having. He could tell they'd become the talk of the party as soon as they'd gotten there. Bayley was there, with her boyfriend, who she'd introduced as "Bobby Roode." Dean had seen Foley, who was there with his wife, and was more than a little inebriated. He saw Roman and Sasha, who were clearly enjoying the night out. Sasha was clad in a breathtaking black evening gown, albeit one that had room for her baby bump within it. She smiled and waved when she saw her ex and his date, and the four even managed congenial small talk upon Dean and Becky's arrival.

And then there was Renee Young. Dean had heard she was dating Brad Maddox, that hot shit defense attorney that had gotten so many felons off for the crimes they'd committed, Brad was a gifted manipulator of criminal law, which probably spoke to how big a remorseless sack of shit he actually was. There was always a smug half-smile tattooed across his face. Dean didn't want his ex-wife back, but he hated her new man. Almost irrationally. Watching them walk through the doors, making their presences known from all corners of the banquet hall, Dean felt a tightening in his stomach.

There were many other guests there that Dean found interesting, if not downright concerning. "For an event sponsored by our city's government," Dean mused internally, "there sure are a lot of reputed scumbags here."

And there really were. Alberto Del Rio made his presence known sometime between nine and ten pm, clad in a three piece suit that looked like it cost more than what Dean made in a year. Over that, he wore a big, extravagant fur coat, and he had a girl with hair even redder than Becky's on his arm. Dean instantly recognized Eva Marie. She was one of the feature dancers at Fabulous Moolah's, a strip club that Del Rio owned and allegedly used as a front for illegal activities. Dean hoped Becky wouldn't ask him how he knew her, as he couldn't think of a convincing lie that would make her think he wasn't a regular attendee.

Next to him was Alexandre Rusev. The thickly muscled eastern european cut an intimidating silhouette in his tuxedo, and Dean was impressed by the elegant blonde on his arm. Around Del Rio were six to eight other faces Dean recognized from previous investigations. Dean must've been staring, because he could hear Becky's voice cut into his inner monologue.

"Who's that?"

Dean smiled. "That's Alberto Del Rio. Restauranteur, Entrepreneur, and according to some, ruthless organized crime kingpin."

Becky's face lost some color. "What's he doing here then?"

"I'm not real sure," Dean returned. "I guess he bought a ticket." He noticed a confused look on his date's face. "He's been taken into custody four times in three years. TCPD can't ever make anything stick, so he sues the pants off the city for wrongful arrest every time. He's made twenty one million in settlements."

Becky, now midway through her second martini, let out a low whistle. "I should get arrested wrongfully. I could quit my job."

Dean chortled knowingly. "You and me both." Ambrose returned his gaze to the tall Latino. "He's the big fish of Titan City. Allegedly, he's got his hands in every pot in this town. Narcotics trafficking, human trafficking, weapons, prostitution. He oversees it all. Allegedly. But that circle of guys around him? One of them always ends up taking the fall. So he gets to come to charity events while one of his underlings rots in jail until his fancy lawyer can get them out."

Becky turned her head sideways. "Must be a good lawyer."

Dean nodded ruefully. "He is. Paul Heyman. High priced. Low morals. My ex-wife is dating one of his junior partners, actually."

Becky scrunched her face in disgust. "That smarmy looking prick from the Christmas Eve service?"

"The same," Dean affirmed. "They make a ton of money getting felons out of the jail time they so richly deserve."

"Assholes," Becky muttered.

"Yup," Dean confirmed, "take this guy walking in now." Dean gestured toward a tall, rangy man with a rigid part through his inky black hair. "That's Wade Barrett. He's from England. Reputed weapons importer and dealer. He's Del Rio's chief competition, though they're fairly friendly now."

"Were they not friendly before?" Becky inquired, now wrapped up in the drama.

Dean snickered knowingly. "Nope. See that pale girl with Wade?"

Becky nodded. "Yeah."

"That's Paige Knight. She was Alberto's jewel. He left his wife for her. They were a thing for like, a year. Then one day we all wake up and she'd left him for Wade. It makes sense if you think about it. They're both British. He's more 'age- appropriate.' Plus there's less competition with Wade."

"Less competition?" Becky asked, a mask of confusion painted across her face.

"Well, yeah," Dean continued. "Alberto owns at least one strip club. Anyway, Wade and Alberto almost went to war over her, which I think is what she wanted. But they both realized it'd cost them too much money, so Alberto let it lie. She's pretty high maintenance, from what our informants say, so I'm not sure how sad Alberto was to see her go."

Becky grinned. "You sure know a lot about them."

Dean nodded, sliding his hand over his date's. "It's my job to know. But I'm not at my job now, am I?"

Becky leaned into him and kissed him, noting internally how much she still enjoyed doing that.

"You sure aren't, Dean." She pressed her hands to his chest, lightly running them up and down before playfully adjusting his tie. "You look so handsome in your suit. Have I said that?"

Dean gave Becky that half-grin that made her heart flutter slightly. "It's always nice to hear, Beck."

And that's how it went between the two of them for the remainder of the night. Deputy Mayor Eric Bischoff gave a speech, as did Tony Garea, the head of surgery at at Rogers Memorial Hospital. There was more dancing, and Sasha DID get her dance with Dean, while Roman and Becky paired off and made small talk nearby. Dinner was served, though neither of the two ate the entire meal, and each had just enough "liquid courage" to take the edge off of what was shaping up to be a significant evening in the annals of their budding relationship.

Dean's favorite part, even after all the things that would come after on that fateful evening, might have been the tender kiss the pair shared as the clock struck midnight. The year before, Dean had spent New Year's Eve at a dive bar, chatting up various women and trying to block the pain of Renee's impending departure with alcohol and as much time at work as he could bear. Now, a year later, Ambrose was ringing in the new year with a breathtaking redhead who appeared to be every bit as into him as he was into her, sipping champagne and top-shelf cocktails at a gathering of Titan City's "who's who's." Even better, his ex-wife was watching his canoodling with his new love interest with a look on her face that made her look like she'd been sucking oatmeal through a siphon hose.

"Why is she so mad?" Becky finally asked Dean, stumped as to why his ex would be upset with him dating someone new.

"I really have no idea," Dean muttered. "It's not like I left her, and, she's been dating that Maddox dude since August. She got serious with him while I was still plowing through rebound ska-" Dean stopped himself as he noticed Becky's eyebrow starting to raise. "Sorry, I wasn't in a good place."

Becky, suddenly concerned, rested a hand on her hip and gave Dean a look that suggested it was time he get serious.

"'Rebound skank?' And what does that make me, Dean?"

The erratic young man searched Becky's expression for signs that she wasn't serious. Finding none, Dean swallowed hard. He hadn't wanted to have this conversation until they were alone, either in his car or at her apartment. But, if she felt like she needed to hear him say it now, he'd happily oblige.

"So, I kinda wanted to talk to you about that."

Before Becky could respond, or Dean could launch into a long soliloquy, the three piece band that had been intermittently playing throughout the evening kicked in once again, and "Tupelo Honey" by VAN MORRISON began softly wafting from the room.

"Dance with me," Dean implored his auburn-haired date, whose face had become something of a resolute mask of irritation. She rolled her eyes, annoyed that Dean would try to change the subject, but she dutifully followed him onto the dance floor.

"I like this song," he mused, trying to delay the more important conversation for as long as possible. "When I was in the eighth grade, I got asked to the 'Sadie Hawkins' dance by this girl Summer Rae."

"What does that have to do with anything?" Becky asked, running out of patience.

"When I told my mom I didn't want to go, she asked me why. I wouldn't tell her, so she guessed it was because I didn't know how to dance. This is one of the songs she played to show me how."

Becky's heart melted a bit at the retelling of that story. Despite his many shortcomings, she could see that Dean was trying to do right by her.

"That's very sweet, Dean," Becky urged affectionately. "But what does that have to do with me?"

Dean chuckled. "Not a whole lot, I just wanted you to know that I wouldn't dance to this song with just anyone." He broke eye contact, swallowed his fear, and cleared his throat.

"I've really enjoyed getting to know you the last couple weeks."

"Me too, Dean," Becky returned gently, her grin growing bright.

"Good. Good." He sighed, steeling himself against the apprehension he felt. "So, are you seeing anyone else?"

Color rushed to Becky's already rosy cheeks as she figured out where Dean was headed with his line of questioning. "No," she breathily responded, "but there is a doctor in the emergency room that's been sniffing around. Very handsy."

Dean's expression changed to one of rage. "Where is he? I'll gut that motherfu-"

His assertion was cut off by Becky taking his face in between the palms of her hands and kissing him. She lingered there, her lips pressed against his, and she felt his tenseness instantly dissolve into thin air.

"It's okay, Dean, I was joking." She wasn't, but Dean didn't need to know that. "What were you saying?"

"Oh," Dean exclaimed softly, remembering his original train of thought. "I was just thinking that maybe you and I could do this just us for a while?"

Becky hung her head, trying to hide how fully she was blushing. "You mean, like, be your girlfriend?"

Dean nodded.

Becky smiled coyly, finally looking back up at her love interest. "I need you to ask me proper."

Dean snickered. "Really?"

Becky grinned. "Aye." She kissed Dean gently again. "Ask me to be your girlfriend."

Dean shrugged and shook his head slowly. "Becky, would you please be exclusive with me and be my girlfriend?"

Becky giggled in spite of herself. She'd met lots of men since she'd been in Titan City, but no one even close to Dean. She found his erratic nature endearing, his strong demeanor comforting, and she found him attractive from head to toe. And, she admitted to herself, if he was serious about being committed to this relationship, then that "head to toe" thing was going to be much more detailed.

"Well?" Dean asked, breaking Becky's train of thought.

"Oh, sorry. Of course, Dean, I would love to be your girlfriend."

Dean barely noticed the band breaking into another song by the same artist, "Into the Mystic." He barely noticed the growing number of eyes on the two of them as they swayed together on their little corner of the dance floor. He barely noticed Sasha and Roman grinning over at the two of them like a pair of fine idiots. What he did notice was the internal glow of Becky Lynch start to grow brighter and brighter.

Becky slinked her arms behind Dean's neck and smiled. "I feel real lucky right now. THE Dean Ambrose is asking me to be exclusive. How lucky can a girl get?" She kissed him quickly, swaying her hips back and forth slightly.

"Hopefully you still feel that way when I tell you the next part." Dean paused, gathered his composure, took several deep breaths, and began again. "I got us a room. You know, in case things went well. We don't even have to-" He cut himself off as Becky began laughing, shaking her head at what Dean thought was his presumption.

"Sorry, I guess," Dean continued, somewhat dejectedly. He began to pull away from Becky, smarting at the perceived rejection, until Becky pulled him in closer by the hands and kissed him softly.

"No, Dean, it's not that." The grin on her face grew wider as Dean's expression softened. "I...got us a room too. A suite."

Now Dean was grinning like an idiot. "Really?"

Becky squeezed his hands gently. "Yeah. I did surgery on the head concierge over the summer. Very nice lady. She said if I ever needed anything to let her know. I got us a top floor suite. I was hoping you'd stay with me. I'm gonna be in there all week since they're doing renovation work on our condo. Bayley's staying with her boyfriend. You're welcome to stay as much or as little of the week as you'd like, but if you do stay…"

She leaned into Dean's ear, whispering seductively. The suddenly stunned Ambrose's eyes grew wide as he listened to Becky's plan for passing the time. When she was through telling him her plans for him for the rest of the evening, she took a gentle, almost imperceptible nibble on his earlobe, sending goosebumps down Dean's entire form.

"I'm really looking forward to blowing your...mind," she intimated, her voice lower and more sultry than Dean had ever heard it.

"I am, too, Beck." Dean grinned before lightly pecking his date's forehead. "But I don't have a damn thing to wear, or sleep in, or…"

He trailed off as Becky giggled. "Now I have to make a confession." She smiled wider as Dean's head cocked in confusion. "I was here earlier today. Setting up."

Dean was almost afraid to ask the next question. "Setting up what?"

"I… was hoping to have the same talk with you that you ended up having with me. I washed all the clothes you left at my house, which was a lot," she snickered as Dean's face flushed with embarrassment. "I packed them and they're upstairs. With my stuff. Just in case." She winked at him as she shook his head.

"What am I gonna do with you?" Dean asked as Becky's eyes found the ground and she bit her lip.

"I'm thinking of a few things you can do with me, Dean Ambrose," Becky lilted, as she squeezed his hands in hers. "Now c'mon, I'm ready to go upstairs."

Dean shook his head. There were times when he felt like he didn't know this woman at all. What he DID know, that very night, was that there was nowhere he'd rather be, and no one he'd rather be with, than right there with the gorgeous, intoxicating Becky Lynch.

* * *

 _Sorry for the delay. Weird stuff is happening. I'm not giving up on this story. I'm just working at a slower pace now. Review. Love you. Bye._


	8. Chapter 8: Family Meeting

_Pretty good response to the last chapter. My views/reviews ratio is still pretty low. I need y'all to get your shit together._

 _Also, I got a good DM question the other day: Where is Titan City? Imagine there's an island similar to Manhattan just north of there. It's like New York City's "twin", like Metropolis and Gotham. It's of comparable size and population._

 _Also, Seth Rollins sucks. Not in this story. In real life. He's a garbage promo with no charisma. Just so y'all know._

 _Finally, there are rumors that Dean Ambrose is leaving WWE. That will not affect this story. I hope he goes somewhere that understands what a star he is._

Chapter 8: Under New Management

Alberto Del Rio was a man who'd gotten used to a certain level of respect from those in his employ. His driver, Ricardo, was a kid from the same small town outside Puebla, Mexico, that Del Rio himself had come from, and who'd made the long trek to Titan City with him. Most men in Alberto's position wouldn't treat his driver with the respect Alberto treated Ricardo with, but then most of them didn't go back as far as Alberto and Ricardo did. Alberto considered him family, and treated him as such.

As his crew gathered in conference room "A" of the Tunney Hotel, Del Rio took a mental roll call in his head. Rusev had just arrived, nursing what appeared to be a rather fierce hangover from the night before. Del Rio chuckled wryly. He'd never figured out what Rusev had done right to end up married to a woman as beautiful as Lana. Alberto himself had tried to date her some years back, when she was a prima ballerina with the Titan City Ballet, but the exquisite blonde would have none of it. It was sometimes hard for the extremely vain Del Rio to get over the fact that Rusev had something that he'd wanted, but the handsome Latino managed to console himself with the company of any number of exotic dancers employed by his gentleman's club, **Destiny.**

Behind Rusev was Colin Cassady. He was the Bulgarian man's second in command, handling the inventory and distribution of all the narcotics Del Rio trafficked into Titan City through its expansive dockyards and shipping operations. Colin was still sporting the remnants of bruises all over his face and body, the trophies of an encounter with one of TCPD's finest, though Del Rio never got the full story. Based on the way Colin conducted himself the night before, cavorting with at least two high end prostitutes, Del Rio guessed he'd finally broken it off for good with his wife. "I might give her a call," Alberto mused to himself inwardly.

Next to Cass was Enzo Amore. Alberto rolled his eyes at the sight of the bleach blonde, extravagantly dressed caricature. As much as Alberto hated Enzo personally, however, he needed the flamboyant young italian. Enzo was what was known in Alberto's organization as a "Floor manager," who at times would operate one of the strip clubs or supervise one of the street corners narcotics were dealt on. All the corner boys feared Enzo, and he organized them with ruthless efficiency. As bad as Del RIo would love to run Amore over with his limo, the short guido provided a valuable service to his organization, and Alberto begrudgingly respected it.

Several other assorted men of some notoriety in Del Rio's organization sauntered through the doors to the conference room in the next few minutes. Brodus Clay, Matt Bloom, Mojo Rawley, all men who'd shed blood and spilled the blood of others for his syndicate.

"Gentlemen," Alberto began, drawing the attention of everyone in attendance. "Today marks the beginning of a new year." His heavy Spanish accent became more noticeable with every syllable. "In the last eight months, our small enterprise has become one of the most prominent movers of product in the nation." As was the case with all purveyors of illegal goods, Alberto never actually said what it was he was selling, or how much he made selling it. "And because Wade and his associates are moving into less...how do I want to put it...perishable goods, I don't see any reason why we can't take it even farther this year."

A small cheer broke out from amidst the ranks of his men, followed by some clapping.

Alberto continued, clearly feeling himself from the cheers he was getting from his associates. "Which is why we will be opening a second gentlemen's club on the west side of Titan City. Right here," he continued as he pointed to a giant map behind him. Enzo Amore, who often mumbled in a stream of consciousness, couldn't help himself.

"Destiny West….Westiny?...Breastany?...Breast Western!"

The meeting broke up into laughter at the last suggestion. Even Alberto, who found himself less and less patient with the antics of his crew, chuckled at the remark.

"Enzo, my friend, you have a way with words." Alberto cleared his throat, signalling to the assemblage that it was time to focus again. " I trust you will help me audition some dancers for my new establishment?"

"How you doin'?" Enzo replied enthusiastically. Alberto snickered amicably, knowing that that phrase was one the tiny Italian used to purvey enthusiasm or otherwise answer in the affirmative. Del Rio chortled again before returning to his speech.

"We will be using Destiny West, or whatever name we decide on, as a base of operations for that half of the city. Some of you will be coming with me tonight to help with the sale of Barrett's product to us."

"What is he getting in return?" Broadus Clay piped up from the back of the room.

Del Rio chuckled again. "In return, we will be buying our product, raw, directly from his supplier. He will still get a percentage of everything we do, and we will buy weapons and ammunition only from him as well."

Heads around the room nodded. "Is there anything else?"

After another moment, and some insignificant small talk, the meeting dispersed. Everyone had their assignments. Enzo, Cass, and Matt Bloom took a ride to the west side of Titan City to take a look at the building they'd purchased, while everyone else set about their tasks with grim determination and a dogged sense of purpose. Alberto Del Rio was a ruthless, hardened criminal, but working for him did have its' privileges, and one of those, an upcoming stripper audition, was exactly why they toiled the hours they did for the cutthroat ganglord.

* * *

Commitment wasn't something Dean Ambrose had expected to take up so soon in the new year. He'd actually actively avoided it altogether until December, when the fiery haired Irish dynamo had set his world on fire. And she had set him on fire. In every conceivable way except the literal sense. Even now, while she laid sound asleep under his arm, he could feel his heart skipping beats.

She'd promised she'd "blow his mind." And she'd more than delivered. They hadn't even made it to the bedroom. They'd engaged in intense foreplay in the elevator on the way up to Becky's suite, then fumbled with lights and clothing for several minutes. She'd asked him to figure out how the gas fireplace worked while she slipped into something "more comfortable." Initially, Dean snickered at the outdated cliche for "putting on 'fuck me' clothes," but upon gazing his eyes at the result, he'd decided that Becky could call whatever she just did anything she wanted, so long as she looked as alluring and appetizing as she did at that moment..

She sauntered back into the suite's sitting room just seconds after Dean had gotten the fire to a satisfactory roar. The second he set his gaze upon her, his breath left him. Her body was adorned with a black corset and matching underwear. This particular article of clothing set off her hips and legs, which Dean had decided earlier in the week were his favorite thing about his girlfriend's body. It took hours of running his hands over all eligible contestants for Dean to come to this conclusion, but he'd come to a somewhat firm decision on that.

And speaking of "firm," Ambrose couldn't help but notice how every section of Becky's figure appeared positively exquisite in the glowing firelight. She slowly strode towards him, leveling him with the most molten gaze Dean had ever seen in anyone's eyes.

"You like?" She asked, not particularly interested in any verbal answer he had to offer in response.

"I love," Dean managed to choke out, before Becky simply devoured him, her lips feasting on his as soon as he could get the words out.

Their first night of intimacy together exceeded any reasonable expectation Dean might've had. She'd given her new mate what she called the "royal treatment." Her head had bobbed up and down enthusiastically in his lap as he leaned back as far as he could while seated on the plush ottoman in front of the fireplace. It was not an act the ravenous beauty had performed very many times, but she relished the opportunity to quantify her affection for Dean in a purely physical sense.

Before the young man could release, however, Becky raised herself into a straddling position facing Dean. Their bodies ebbed and flowed together, raising and lowering with increasing speed until both released within a minute or so of one another.

When it was over, she even thanked him. In her breathy, hoarse Irish brogue. She nibbled his ear, nuzzled his neck and intimated vocally how long it'd been since she'd felt that good and how she couldn't wait to experience him again.

And she didn't have to wait long. The two lovers bathed together, carefully washing each other before making love again, Becky bent over and braced herself against the tiled back wall of the hotel's rainforest shower setup. Her moans were louder and more enthusiastic the second time, and she begged her man for more with every thrust. Dean wasn't sure he'd ever been with a woman who seemed to need him as badly as Becky did, but he sure didn't mind.

They stayed in the shower, each soaping and rinsing the other, intermingling completely, for almost an hour. Dean particularly enjoyed kneading Becky's pert, full breasts, even stopping to enjoy how her nipples felt between his fingers. Finally, the two exited the white porcelain enclosure, playfully drying each other off and continuing their inaugural expeditions of the others bodies. Becky somehow ended up seated on the sink counter adjacent to the shower, her legs spread enough to allow Dean to stand between them. She'd wrapped her shapely, smooth legs around his back, inviting him as close as could be physically managed, while her hands linked lazily around his neck as she urged him on with vocal sounds that weren't words, exactly, but affirmed to Dean that he was doing exactly what she wanted in exactly the way she wanted it done to her.

Once that particular encounter culminated for both of them, the pair found themselves lounging in the king size bed the hotel suite offered. Becky drifted off to sleep fully entwined in Dean's arms, her back flush against his chest. She couldn't remember a time her heart felt so full, and she also thanked the universe she'd renewed her daily birth control routine a few months back when she'd briefly dated an orderly at the hospital. They never ended up consumnating their relationship, but the practical young doctor stayed on the pill, as going on and off constantly could have an adverse effect on the body. She smiled, thought Dean couldn't see it, sighed happily, and drifted off to sleep.

* * *

Dean Ambrose was making it his life's mission to be as silent as possible while getting ready for work. He'd managed to get out of bed, shower, and find his work clothes without waking up the exquisite woman still asleep in the next room. Brushing his teeth quietly took some doing, as he was used to leaving the water running. Finally, he reluctantly decided that he was ready to face his day.

Searching for his keys, Dean found his way to Becky's side of the bed. Sure enough, there on the nightstand sat his overfilled keyring, wallet, and cell phone.

"Must've set them down here when I was distracted earlier," he mused inwardly. Slowly grasping his possessions, he hoped to complete his temporary escape without doing anything to stir his new girlfriend.

"Girlfriend," Dean thought to himself. To Dean, it felt a bit fast to commit so much of his life to someone he'd known barely a month. But as he stared down at the mess of wavy orange hair splayed out on the green pillowcase like a forest fire, the young officer knew if that's what she wanted from him, that's what she'd get, without any complaint or reservation.

He tiptoed out the door, guiding it all the way back into place, before hearing it lock behind him. He hoped Becky knew that he was just going to work, and that he'd be back later that evening to spend more time with her. "Today, tomorrow, and...hell, who knows?" The notion did make him smile, and there hadn't been nearly enough smiles in Dean Ambrose's life for the last year.

* * *

 _So, this was graphic and short. I know. I've been stuck on this chapter for a while. Life, other stories and whatnot. I think getting it done and in will help me move things along._


	9. Chapter 9: Message Received

_Again, sorry for the short update last time. I got stuck, but felt too far in to start over._

 _Thanks for the feedback. Love you guys._

 _Also, it occurred to me that some of y'all might not know; Matt Bloom is Tensai._

Chapter Nine: Briefings

Titan City Major Crimes was officially in business. There was no sign out front advertising their presence, or any real indication indicating to their community that the old warehouse they were based out of was anything other than a rented facility, but the two dozen or so officers who'd been selected for this elite unit were seated behind temporary folding tables, doughnuts and coffee dispersed throughout, while Carmella took an administrative position at the front door, just outside the main room.

Inside that room, trying desperately to stay warm in the poorly insulated structure, Dean was perched on a stool in front of a bulletin board. It was shockingly "low tech" for the twenty first century, but most of the computers and associated equipment weren't operational yet, or were only just so, and so Dean went "old school."

"Ok," he belted resolutely, signalling that he was ready to get serious. The various attendees came to relaxed attention from their seated positions. "So, according to one of our CI's, the Del Rio syndicate is opening a second strip club location on the west end of town." Dean noted that all eyes were on him, which he wasn't sure he enjoyed, but that was his gig now, and so he continued on.

"If this new location is anything like the current address, then it's gonna be a hotbed for trafficking. Drugs, weapons, people. The commissioner's office is dead set against losing another portion of the city to this guy. So, our first task is observation."

Dean pointed toward a three block section of West Titan on the map, with a pre-circled section about four inches in diameter. "There are several buildings in this particular sector that we believe Del Rio has an interest in. The good news is that we'll be able to tell clearly what building they choose. It's a serious operation. So we stake out these few blocks. Huffman, Rhodes, Styles, and Dashwood. Patrol the area. Let 'em see you. Rollins, Flair, y'all will actually be doing the surveillance. There's a burned out parking deck across the street from where we think the club is going in. Get photos and video. Make sure Ryder gets it so he can put it all on flash drive so I can take it to Foley." He sighed. "This being in charge is horseshit." A chuckle rippled through the room. Dean scanned the group again and continued. "The rest of you, keep setting up here. Dana, you're on dispatch duty until we get our full-timers in here next week. Probably Nia Jax and a new hire. Carmella!"

The bleach blonde beauty stuck her head through the door in rapt attention. "Yeah?"

"Make sure the coffee's fresh. It's our first full day. I still got a lot of transfer paperwork to do. Got another half dozen officers here by the end of the week."

There was a ripple of approval. Dana raised her hand cautiously.

"Speak freely, Brooke," Dean responded.

"Ok, uh," she started, not completely confident in her statement, "we were told this was 'major crimes' and we're starting out just dealing with Alberto Del Rio. Seems like this is really just a task force just to bring him in."

Dean snickered. The well-built blonde had a point. All the feedback he'd gotten from Foley led him to believe they should start with the charismatic Latino, and Del Rio surely had his hands in a LOT of pots in the Stamford area, but he wasn't there only job. Just their most important. He quickly prepared his answer.

"Dana, as far as the mayor's office is concerned, right now Alberto Del Rio IS major crimes in Titan City. We bring him down, we cut the head off the snake."

The buxom officer considered this, then nodded. "Cool. So I'm just here coordinating today?"

Dean grinned in the affirmative. "Yeah. You're running the show. I got shit-tons of paperwork and more transfers coming in today. Speaking of which," he trailed off, checking his watch. "I should have another couple guys showing up today."

He'd no sooner gotten the words from his mouth when the main doors flung open seemingly on their own. A second later, a bleached blonde man with superbly defined arms and shoulders swaggered through the warehouse meeting area as though he were in charge. Trailing him was a massive bald man who appeared to be in his early fifties and a striking woman with jet black hair and a generous smattering of tattoos.

"Dolph fuckin' Ziggler!" Dean exclaimed, a broad grin splashing across his face.

"Dean," Dolph responded, obnoxious smile of his own plastered through his countenance. "It's good to see you."

"It's good to be me, bitch." Dean refused to let Dolph get over on him. The two met near the center of the room, coming together in a rough embrace. "The fuck are you doing here?"

Dolph shrugged. "I work here now. You didn't get the email?"

Dean snickered. "I haven't checked shit. Holiday. Hold on." He thumbed a series of buttons on his phone. After a minute of intense scanning on his screen, Dean's face signaled he'd found what he was looking for.

"Shit yeah, here it is." He turned his phone toward Dolph, who squinted at the display.

"Yep, that's me." He thumbed resolutely behind him. "By the way, I brought you a couple care packages. You'll find their transfer papers in your inbox soon." He started with the hulking fiftysomething. "This is Bill Goldberg. He's been in homicide almost twenty five years."

Dean smiled with recognition. "I've heard of you." He extended his hand for a vigorous shake. "You're a fuckin' legend."

"I prefer 'immortal,'" Bill quipped. "I'm just here to crack some more skulls before I retire. Wanna help clean up the streets. And this police department."

"You will, Bill," Dolph countered. He gestured over his other shoulder. "This is Ruby Riott. Graduated top of her class at the academy. Has trouble following regulations, as you can see," Ziggler motioned up one of her arms and down the other for emphasis.

Dean chortled again. "She sounds like one of us already." Dean took her hand in his. "Good to have you."

Ruby returned with a tight lipped smile. "Good to be here. I trust we can really dispense some justice in this unit." She stopped to shake her head. "Be a nice change of pace from these pussies I'm used to dealing with."

Now Ambrose laughed louder. He'd spent the first half of his career thinking the exact same thing.

"Yeah, Ruby. You'll get to kick as much ass as you want to."

She smirked. "Cool. I'm in." She stepped closer to Dean, giving him a glance up and down before running her finger down the center of his torso. "What're you doing later?"

"Holy shit," Dean internalized. He'd been propositioned by Dana, Becky, and now this new girl within a three week period. He was also sure he could wear Naomi's friend Nia Jax out whenever he wanted if he were just interested in a fling. "You're taken now, shitheel," Ambrose reminded himself.

"Sorry, girl, my girlfriend would beat your ass." Dean wasn't sure he believed that, but he was loyal, and as attractive as he found the raven haired punk, he'd just asked Becky to be exclusive. It would do him no good to go back on that now.

Ruby raised an eyebrow in return, before giving a didmissive snicker. "I doubt that very seriously, but I don't think you could handle me anyway."

Now laughs were emanating from more than one corner of the giant building, though Dean refused to acknowledge them.

Instead, he just directed Dolph, Bill, and Ruby to where they could set up shop and start reporting every morning. Ruby's application for transfer wasn't close to completed, but her references were incredible, and Dean needed all the competent officers he could get at the moment. There were a few transfer requests that still intrigued him, and Ambrose figured he'd spend most of the rest of the day going through them.

He'd retired to the friendly confines of his office when his phone started vibrating with urgency. The last thing Dean needed at that moment was a distraction, but he also wasn't going to pass up the chance to get more quality police officers in his building. He perused the incoming message, and his heart fluttered when he saw who it was from.

 _Ey boyo, last night was amazing. Why didnt you wake me up before you left?_

The abject delight Dean Ambrose took from this message couldn't be understated. Becky brought him an inordinate amount of happiness. This was certain. Both in her inner spirit, and in her command of the sex appeal that was obvious to anyone that spent more than about forty seven seconds around her. Ambrose thumbed out a thoughtful response.

 _You exerted a LOT of energy yesterday. Plus, & idk if u kno this, but u r angelic when u sleep. I didn't have it in me 2 disturb u._

It bothered Dean how into Becky he already was. He was just considering every inch of the brash doctor when his phone buzzed again.

 _Ur right. I sure did have it in me yesterday though, yeah? You're pretty fantastic, Ambrose._

 _Rly? Well. let me get done here and I'll be back to the hotel._

Becky grinned from her prone position in the king sized bed in the suite she currently occupied.

 _I kno u got ur briefings today. But get through ur bullshit, come back 2 the "love shack" and you'll get your de-briefing. ;)_

Dean snickered. That was another quality of Becky's that he found entrancing. Her sense of humor. It was concerning to him that he already felt so irredeemably smitten with the woman who'd also treated his gunshot trauma, given his still somewhat fresh divorce and the emotional trauma that had accompanied it, but Dean also knew the woman he was rapidly falling for was different. He quickly mustered a return.

 _Looking forward 2 that. U r something special, Lynch._

His phone buzzed almost immediately.

 _I kno. And that's Dr. something special Lynch to you._

Ambrose chuckled heartily, pocketing his phone. He quickly scanned the personnel in his charge, as they broke off into smaller groups and planned their incursions for the day. As quickly as his mind had gone to the fancy suite with his auburn-haired lover, he was drawn back to the present, and a final email he'd received a few minutes before.

"Oh yeah," he called, as every head in the room snapped toward him. "Tomorrow, we're going out to the Academy. Gonna get a few fresh recruits, since almost every clean cop I know is already in this room." There was a smattering of laughter. "Anyone who wants to come out, feel free. Roman and his hires have to be out there bright and early for field training. The rest of us can head out there after."

A murmur of agreement filled the room. After a moment, Dean turned back toward his office and closed the door, consumed by getting his paperwork done and returning to his new love interest as quickly as possible.

* * *

When Alberto Del Rio sent the message to his subordinates that their presence was required at eight pm at a newly acquired empty factory, every recipient of that particular notification knew that attendance was mandatory. Alberto himself hadn't intended on any group activity on that particular day, but a last minute phone call from a former lieutenant changed the fancy dinner he'd planned with Eva Marie to a rather complex gathering with several moving parts.

As Ricardo Rodriguez deftly maneuvered Alberto's town car into a concrete monolith some miles from the extravagant restaurant they'd planned to join Rodriguez's wife in, the crime boss took stock of who he could already tell had arrived from wherever around the city they were.

He'd gotten the flood of texts from Enzo and Cass earlier in the day. Their location scout had been clearly staked out by "Titan's finest," and that had made the small Italian nervous enough, but then he'd also been visited by Jim Laurinaitis, president of the "Legion of Doom," Titan's most notorious biker gang. Jim asked, albeit without a lot of grace in his tone, for a sit down with the boss. When Big Cass took exception to how brusque the leather-clad man had been in his request, Laurinaitis, who went by the street moniker "Animal," pulled a rather large handgun on Cassady. When Big Cass pulled his own piece in response, around two dozen other "LOD" gang members also revealed weapons of various degrees of terror. However, cooler heads prevailed, and Enzo simply arranged the late night pow-wow with their employer.

So now Del Rio was trying to kill two birds with one stone. He could have his meeting with his former protege and Laurinaitis and still have time to be at his fancy dinner with Ricardo and the others by nine. As his chaffeured vehicle coasted carefully into the designated area, a small smile creased the mouth of Titan's notorious "el Patron."

"Pull it in here," Del Rio instructed Rodriguez. The smaller man nodded, before following his bosses instructions to the letter. "Here" was directly behind a parked box truck, it's sliding door pulled all the way down so as to conceal its contents. Del Rio noticed that gathered around said truck were three or four men Alberto didn't know. He thumbed the safety on his concealed weapon to the "off" position, always cautious when sensing possible danger. His pulse did slow a bit when he saw from the corner of his eye several vehicles he recognized as belonging to the men in his employ. Matt Bloom and Brodus Clay unfolded their massive frames from a black SUV, with Enzo and Cass hopping from the backseat as though the vehicle were on fire. Mojo Rawley parked his Honda racing motorcycle not far from Del Rio's vehicle, and Baron Corbin and Joe Seanoa emerged from Corbin's pickup, their emotions tensed but bodies relaxed, unwilling to give away any hint of stress to potential enemies.

All of that preparation was for naught. After a few precious seconds, the passenger door of the box truck opened and a youngish man in one of the nicest three piece suits Del Rio had ever seen on anyone other than himself. Grinning with familiarity, the curly-haired man strode confidently toward Del Rio.

"Ethan!" Alberto exclaimed jubilantly, "how are you my friend?"

Ethan Carter smiled back at him wealthily, if it were possible to do such a thing. "I'm great, Alberto."

Del Rio gave his former top lieutenant the once over. "How is your aunt Dixie?"

Carter nodded again. "She's good. Moved the business to Nashville, where she can keep a closer eye on the cook houses. That's why I called you here, actually." He motioned toward the back of the box truck, nonverbally urging Del Rio to follow him. "Before I show you what I really have for you, I got a couple guys I wanted to recommend."

As he said those words, two massive men unfurled themselves from the passenger's side of the truck, lightly dropping to the ground one at a time. From a second dark vehicle, another man, this one much smaller, yet still just as intimidating, confidently slammed the door behind him as he rose.

"So," Ethan continued, "I'm packing up and taking the operation to Philly. Aunt Dixie wants to run distribution out of there. I'm taking most of the guys with me, but I got three here that would prefer to stay here." He turned over one shoulder and called out to the twins.

"Akam! Razar!" He motioned for the men to approach. Instinctively, several of Del RIo's associates reached for their weapons, but Del Rio waved his men off.

"It's okay, _amigos_ , I trust Ethan."

Ethan gestured toward his compatriots. "This is Akam and Razar Ellering. Serbian nationals adopted at seven. They're staying because they have a couple of VERY profitable rackets they don't want to give up. But they're excellent bodyguards. I told them I'd put in a good word with you."

"They loyal?" Del Rio asked, genuinely intrigued by this new possibility.

Carter nodded intently. "Extremely. And lethal as well."

Del Rio gave both massive men the once over. "Okay. We will try them out on a...probationary basis. Won't we, Enzo?"

The bleached blonde man, only half paying attention to this point, flinched with a start. "How you doin', boss?"

"I'll take that as a yes, 'Zo."

Amore snickered, as did his boss. At Del Rio's signal, his minions greeted Akam and Razar as friends, shaking hands and spewing brief introductions. Ethan watched for a bit, before remembering why he was actually there.

"Oh, yeah, 'Berto, I found the leaks in your money laundering operation." As he spoke, he worked the latch of the truck's sliding door, revealing two bloody figures, beaten to a pulp and kneeling.

They were men aged between 35 and 40, their clothes lightly stained with blood. The blonder of the two men had tears rolling softly from his cheeks. Both were bound and had their mouths gagged with silver duct tape.

Del Rio snickered, instantly recognizing the two men.

"Taylor? Christopher?"

Carter nodded solemnly. "Yep. I didn't think it was them, but we caught both of them red handed."

Alberto shook his head, as though he were genuinely surprised that these were the two of his low level dealers that had been skimming money. In truth, he'd known for days that it was this pair, but Alberto looked at the fact that Ethan brought them to him as a final testament to the Carter family's loyalty.

"Shit," Del Rio muttered to himself. "Ricardo, can you believe this?"

Shocked that his boss was asking for his opinion, Ricardo Rodriguez's eyes grew as wide as saucers.

"No boss, I thought they were clean." He didn't really think that, but there was no point in voicing that opinion now. He just shrugged, confirming back to Alberto what he wanted to hear.

Alberto clicked his lips in disapproval. "It's a real shame, ' _mano."_ He turned back toward the entrance to the structure, where a cement mixing truck was backing in, giving off loud "beeps!" as it rolled slowly.

Del Rio continued. "Maybe I'm getting soft in my old age." He was muttering to himself now, shaking his head and pacing back and forth. "Maybe I haven't sent a clear enough message that disrespect will not be tolerated." The cement truck parked next to Del Rio's sedan, extending the chute into a perfectly square indention in the surface about 8 feet on each side.

"Andrade!" Del Rio greeted the driver. Another man was with him. A "button guy" Ricardo Rodriguez knew as Jorge Arias.

"Boss," Andrade Almas returned. Del Rio traced his gaze from the two traitors in the back of Ethan Carter's box truck, to the pit underneath the cement chute running from the back of the borrowed mixer, and back.

"Akam. Razar," Del Rio called the two newest members of his organization. "Lay our two friends here down in the pit. They look like shit. I bet they could use a rest."

Akam snickered and glanced at Razar, before lightly flicking his head toward their objective. Without a single wasted movement, the two gigantic enforcers reached into Ethan Carter's delivery truck and slung the two objects of Alberto's disdain over their shoulder. Without much malice or care, they dropped their cargo into the square divot, smirking to themselves at what they thought was going to happen.

"You want us to put a bullet in them, boss?" Colin Cassady asked, suddenly threatened by the presence of two new associates who were almost as large as him.

Del Rio smirked. "No, Cass, but rough them up a little. Put the boots to them. Hard."

Cassady snickered. He'd been itching to really lay a beating on someone since his ill-fated encounter with Dean Ambrose. Wide, sadistic grin on his face, he lurched down into the same hole Del Rio's victims were occupying. After a moment, Seanoa, Corbin, and Rawley joined him.

Cassady made the first move. With all the rage he'd accrued the last couple days, he brought his size sixteen boot down on the face of Scott Taylor. The duct tape kept the man from crying out, but Cass could tell he wanted to. To his credit, Brian Christopher took the beating like a man, as he had every other part of his treatment since he'd been caught skimming profits from Alberto Del Rio's methamphetamine-cooking operations outside of Titan City. Brian had a daughter in expensive private school, and so hiding the ill-gotten gains had served him well, even at the additional coast to the man's well being.

And that was fine with Alberto. In a perverse way, he respected Brian Christopher. He'd stolen money to make a better life for his children. When Del Rio found out that fact, he'd ordered that Christopher's family not be touched. Once he'd dealt with Brian, that debt would be squared. Del Rio had even considered setting up a college fund for his children. Taylor was another story. He'd begged, pleaded, and cried from the second he'd been captured. Alberto had no patience for a thief that wasn't willing to face the potential consequences of his actions.

The crime lord watched his subordinates lay a beating on the two transgressors for a few more seconds. Shaking his head, he finally called off the thugs.

"Enough, boys." He gazed down into the hole, taking in his associates' handiwork. Brian Christopher still wouldn't cry. Scott Taylor, on the other hand, was whimpering, begging for his life through the oppressive tape over his mouth.

"Put that one out of his misery," Del Rio commanded, pointing at Brian Christopher. "And no one touches his family," he directed, the seriousness of his voice betraying how swift any disobedience of this order would be. Mojo Rawley pulled out a nine millimeter, sneering down at his intended victim. Instead of sniveling, as his partner was, Christopher simply closed his eyes, and gave himself the "sign of the Cross," indicating that he was making his peace with his Maker. Even in his advanced adrenaline rush, Mojo respected the manner in which Christopher was receiving the consequences of his actions. After staring down at the man for another beat, Rawley pulled the trigger twice, granting Christopher the easy transition to the afterlife he deserved.

Taylor wasn't so lucky. Watching in horror as Christopher's life was snuffed out by one of Del Rio's men, Taylor again protested as vocally as possible against the duct tape over his mouth.

"You want us to do him, too?" Amore inquired of his employer.

Del Rio smiled, though there was nothing redeeming in it. "No, Enzo. He didn't earn that."

Instead, Alberto gestured for Jorge Arias to begin pouring cement into the hole that was currently occupied by the pair of turncoats, leading to even louder muffled cries from the surviving Taylor.

"Let's go, Ricardo," Del Rio spat offhandedly to his driver and friend, as though he were leaving his house five minutes late. "We don't want to keep our women waiting." Alberto took his normal seat, relaying to his men nonverbally that ordering insubordinate employees killed was no big deal. He even cracked a slight grin as he heard the distressed cries of Scott Taylor. The cement would suffocate him, a bit at a time, a slow painful death befitting a cowardly traitor.

* * *

 _That took forever. I'm sorry. Some shit is going down in my personal life. I'll keep plugging along, though. I'll also provide a preview for my slasher story I'll be posting this fall. Love y'all. Review._


	10. Chapter 10: Sneak preview: BLOOD RIVER

**_Here's a little preview of what's coming up this fall. A slasher story I concocted from my love of nineties' teen cinema. Be on the lookout for "Blood River."_**

" _Breathe." That was all Alexa Bliss could tell herself as she ran, listening in horror as the intense footsteps behind her drew closer and closer. In the distance, the raging inferno of her childhood home grew larger, hotter, and more oppressive. She glanced over her shoulder, her heart jumping as she saw the massive silhouette gaining ground on her, despite how slow the unnamed man seemed to be moving._

 _The screams coming from the inferno sounded so familiar. Alexa knew the names and faces of every solitary voice emanating from that disaster. Turning slightly, again stealing a peek at her pursuer, she gasped lightly at the sight. A giant, horizon-consuming figure, arm raised with knife in hand, no more than ten feet behind her. As she observed, in sheer horror, a ghastly smile parted the lips of her attacker, though she couldn't make out his face._

 _Alexa let out a scream. A blood curdling roar of sheer terror, hoping to scare away the wraith. No dice. The terrifying apparition brought the huge blade down toward her as she heard every distant scream emanating from the raging blaze scream "no!" At the exact same time she felt hands shaking her, swaying her from side to side forcefully._

… _.._

"Alexa! Alexa!" Mickie James gently called, softly shaking the tiny blonde awake. After another minute of convulsing in her sleep, the waifish beauty sat up with a start, gasping for breath while wiping the accumulating sweat from her brow. At the foot of the miniscule girl's bed, a young looking golden retriever began to stir, before whining a bit and licking her distressed owner on her face, trying to comfort whatever was ailing the poor girl.

"Did you have the dream again, babe?"

Alexa nodded, fighting back a tear. "Yeah, Aunt Mickie, I did. I could feel the heat on me this time. It was so vivid."

The brunette woman slid an arm around Alexa's slight shoulders and rubbed her far forearm slightly. The aforementioned puppy jumped down from the bed, crossing the room to a large laundry basket stuffed with blankets.

"It's ok, Lexi," she half cooed, hoping her soothing voice and use of Alexa's nickname would remind her subconsciously that she was safe now.

"I'm sure it's just nerves. It's the first day at a new school." Mickie didn't believe this for a second, but she was hoping to calm Alexa's spirit before the minuscule young woman's emotions got out of control.

It had been a season of change for Alexa, and her aunt, and her Uncle John, and their 3 children. They'd taken in Mickie's sister's daughter the previous spring, moving her from Ohio to Georgia. They'd stepped up after the girl had been released from inpatient psychological rehabilitation. She'd been too late to finish the school year at the local high school, but she'd made the cheer squad at prestigious Blue River High through a special tryout the team's coach arranged after seeing video of her prodigious talent. The special treatment hadn't endeared her to a segment of the "Raiderettes" team, but she'd been embraced by a few of them, too.

Her train of thought was viciously derailed by her aunt Mickie's soothing voice.

"Sweetie?" She called, hoping Alexa wasn't suffering a complete psychological break.

"Sorry," Alexa returned, an embarrassed smile parting her lips. "I'm just overwhelmed. It's been… a lot of change."

"I know, Lex," Mickie answered sympathetically. "I can't imagine how rough the last year has been on you. With," she paused, trying to tread lightly around the devastating recent past events of Alexa's life. "You coming here to live with us, and what happened with your parents." She stopped abruptly, feeling Alexa tense up and begin shaking in emotional distress.

"It's just been so hard." Alexa managed to groan out, desperately trying to maintain her composure. And it really had been. As far as the tiny girl's situation was concerned, it had not been a particularly good calendar year.

"And you are so strong for having come through all that. And," she continued, pulling Alexa close to her and planting a playful kiss on the top of her head, "your cousins look up to you. You're the strongest person they've ever met."

Alexa rolled her eyes and wiped away a tear.

"Yeah right. I've been a blubbering mess all summer."

"I'm serious," Mickie countered, squeezing the tiny girl tighter under her arm. "Brynn told me the other day she wanted to be tough, just like Lexi."

Alexa couldn't suppress a small laugh. "Well, if she could see me now…"

Mickie chuckled. "You're gonna do great things. Blue River High is an incredible place. I know some of the kids from Ryder's, and John works with them a lot. Also, don't forget that you're an insanely hot blonde cheerleader. You're gonna be super popular." She started rocking Alexa gently from side to side, feeling the shivering in Alexa's body beginning to calm. "I love you. You remind me so much of my sister, and she was a rock star. There's so much of her in you, and I know she'd be proud. She was proud," Mickie added, arm still around her niece. After another moment, Alexa steeled herself, exhaled deeply, gave her faithful canine friend a few scratches behind the ears, and scooted toward the edge of her bed.

"Thank you, Aunt Mickie," Alexa said softly. "I think I'm okay now. I just have a lot on my mind."

Mickie nodded. "I get it. How 'bout John gives you a ride on his way to work instead of you taking the bus? And then one of these weekends we'll go find you a good car? Something you can have so you're not depending on us to get from cheer practice back here." She grinned at her niece. "And you can go to all the parties and social events I just know everyone is going to invite you to."

Alexa rolled her eyes again. "Yeah right. Because I was such a party animal in Ohio."

Mickie stood from her perch on Alexa's mattress. "I'm telling you. It's different here. You're going to be popular. In fact, I worry that you might be a little TOO popular. Some of the boys here are-"

Alexa raised her hand to cut her aunt off. "You don't have to worry about that. I'm nowhere near being ready after what happened with Buddy."

Mickie tried not to betray the pant of sadness she felt when Alexa mentioned her former boyfriend from her old life. In every correspondence she'd had with her sister, Alexa's mom, Mickie read about how Alexa and Buddy were "the kind of young love that makes anyone around them pine for the days of their youth." Mickie had once written in response that if the two youthful lovebirds were demonstrative enough to make Monica write "like Lord Byron," they must've been pretty cute together. It genuinely made Mickie's heart ache to know that Alexa would never see him again.

"I know," Mickie returned. She tried to keep her speech patterns as even as possible, though she really wanted to remind Alexa that it had been almost a year since the incident, and that socializing with some of Blue River's cutest and most eligible boys might be exactly what the tiny cheerleader needed.

"When you're ready, though, Lexi. The boys in Georgia are a little different. The manners, the accents…" Mickie trailed off.

Alexa's face now morphed into an amused smirk.

"Sounds like you should date one, then."

Alexa turned toward her armoire. It was one of the few articles of furniture from her old house that survived, and she treasured it. Carefully, she began selecting clothes for that day, and setting aside a change into athletic wear for after school practice.

…

A few minutes after Mickie traipsed up the stairs from Alexa's basement bedroom into the kitchen area of the bustling Cena family home, Alexa trotted lightly up the same stairwell, her faithful puppy only a step behind her, hoping to grab a bit of breakfast before the fateful journey to her first day at a new high school.

Breakfast hadn't always been easy for Alexa. No meal had, in fact. She'd developed a debilitating eating disorder at thirteen, and it even became life-threatening at one point. Her parents, her brother, and Buddy had all worked very hard to help her overcome her bulimia. Even with the four of them constantly watching over and praying for Alexa, she'd still needed professional help to be able to eat again without feeling self-conscious or like she was surrendering control of her own body.

Mickie was well aware of Alexa's past struggles. She'd been filled in by Monica, Alexa's mom, as the situation developed some years back, and now she felt somewhat prepared to accommodate her niece's dietary needs. In particular, Alexa ate a lot of egg whites. A LOT. It was a food that would give Alexa much of what she needed nutritionally without upsetting her extremely fragile stomach. So Mickie, her compassion for Alexa shining through again and again, had a fresh egg white and honey on wheat bread sandwich waiting for the slight young woman. It was calories, protein, and carbs. Everything she needed without forcing her to take in more than she wanted. Monica had recalled to Mickie more than once what Alexa's counselor advised; forcing her to eat will only cause purging later.

That's why Mickie was embracing Alexa's dietary requests. The ultrafit tiny young blonde was as conscious of her body as Mickie was the life and well being of her children, and Mickie wasn't about to fight her on her preferences, given everything that'd happened in Ohio, so she just cooked what Alexa liked and smiled while she did it. "After all," Mickie reminded herself, "Alexa is family, she's been the least imposing houseguest ever, and she's very good at changing diapers, and taking care of the twins, so she deserves a few concessions when it comes to what she eats."

Breakfast time at the Cena household was almost always chaos. There was Brynlee, John and Mickie Cena's oldest child at ten years of age, and the twins, Ansleigh and Anson. All three were vocal about their hunger, and that noise was enough without the small TV camped on the linoleum kitchen counter. At the moment it was blaring the morning news, with the local Atlanta anchor going on about a triple murder in Northern Kentucky, or a traffic jam that would delay trips through the city for hours, or a school budget crisis in Tampa. There was no telling, And Alexa was only half listening as she sat down anyway.

Her breakfast was exactly how she liked it, which made the tiny high school junior smile. It would be the first of several smiles that day. In fact, Alexa would later conclude that she'd smiled more that day than she had since she'd moved from Ohio.

She sat contentedly, eating her simple meal with her young cousin and half-listened as Mickie and John ran through their normal morning banter, with him reminding her about Brynlee's softball practice and Mickie asking John if Alexa could bum a ride with him to school, since her assigned bus was currently steamrolling by the Cena home with no sign of stopping for the new student.

"Sure," John asserted, snapping Alexa out of her trance. "But it's not gonna help Alexa socially to be dropped off by a cop for her first day at a new school. They're gonna think she's a 'narc.'"

Mickie pondered this for a second, before shrugging. "There's that clump of trees out front of the student parking lot. Drop her off behind those. Nobody sees her, and she doesn't have to ride the…" the maternal brunette stopped for a moment, then looked at Brynlee. "Bryn, cover your ears for a second."

She waited for the precocious girl to make a big show of pressing her hands against the sides of her face. Mickie continued. "...shitty yellow bus."

Alexa giggled before quickly finishing her breakfast. At that moment, something that terrified the towheaded pixie sparked within her for the first time since she'd left her home state. A spark that maybe things were going to be better than she'd left them in her home state. A spark that allowed her to dream that regardless of the horrors she'd left behind her, that new hopes, friends, and opportunities awaited her at the other end of a short ride in a squad car. She quickly stood from the breakfast table, grabbed her trusty, well worn, and slightly charred backpack, and followed John out of the kitchen, stopping briefly to tightly embrace her aunt Mickie, and trotted down the outside steps and into the passenger's seat of squad car number "three eight seven five."

…

"Can you turn that up please? I love this song." Bayley Martinez's attention was divided, but there was nothing on earth that could've completely taken her away from THIRD EYE BLIND's "Semi-Charmed Kinda Life."

Dean Ambrose shook his head, but obliged, reaching toward his console and turning the appropriate knob.

It was a common routine, carried over from the year before. Dean would wake up before the crack of dawn at his mom's house, avoid whatever random dude or, even worse, significant other was shacking up at the residence that particular evening, and get ready for school. Then he'd hop in his SUV and drive, often at least twenty miles per hour over the speed limit, to pick up his stepsister from his father's house. This part wasn't necessary, but Bayley was the one member of his dad's new family that Dean actually wanted to be around. His stepmom seemed nice enough, and Bayley's older sisters were...fun, but Dean deeply resented the lot of them for causing his dad to take off on his mom, and so his interaction with the new Ambrose clan was limited to the smiley hugger.

From their vantage point, Dean could survey the entire front profile of Blue River High School. He especially enjoyed the banner across the school's front entrance that read, in big, black letters; "Welcome back Senior class of 1999 and all students." Dean shook his head and scoffed. "They don't give a shit if we feel welcomed or not."

He, Bayley, and Brock Lesnar, her tutoring subject and the third occupant of Dean's Explorer, had been on school property since around six AM. Because of his various other school commitments, Dean had to take weight training at that time of day if he wanted to play football, and so he was there. Himself, Bayley, and a handful of teammates.

"Brock, could you get your feet off the seat, please?"

Lesnar grunted his half-hearted agreement, but moved his massive boots to the floor of the vehicle. From the seat next to Dean, Bayley was giving the heavily muscled teen last minute instructions for his algebra exam.

"...remember, Brock, the key is 'x.' X is the quarterback. You have to get him alone before you can take him down. Got it?"

The oafish boy nodded, taking another healthy bite of his chicken biscuit.

"Got it," Lesnar returned in the affirmative through a mouthful of breakfast.

Bayley visually scanned over a sheet of printed notes.

"Ok, Brock. I think you're ready." She turned back toward him, forcing him to make eye contact with her.

"Remember, you have to pass this summer final before you can move up. If you don't, say 'bye' to football. They're already making an exception letting you take your final after the summer has ended."

Brock shook his head wryly. "I know. English makes sense to me. History? Shit already happened. When the shit am I ever gonna need to know what x equals?"

Bayley pondered this a moment. "So you've gotta buy five hundred feet of two by fours to repair your barn because Dean burned part of it down again."

Deans head jerked toward the other two occupants of the vehicle.

"Why you bringing that up? It was a total accident."

Brock shook his head, glaring at Ambrose.

"You're lucky my dad believed that bullshit cover story about someone tripping over a gas can while they were smoking. Otherwise they'd be dedicating this season to the memory of our dear departed starting linebacker."

Dean threw his arms up at his sides and shook his own head animatedly. "Who the fuck keeps gasoline in a hay barn? That's an insurance fraud lawsuit waiting to happen."

Brock couldn't suppress a chuckle. One of the main reasons he hung out with Dean was because of how funny the larger boy found Ambrose. Brock quickly fell silent, however, as he felt Bayley glaring back at him.

"Can we get back to this problem please?" She asked, the annoyed sound of her voice causing mild grief in Dean's soul.

"Sorry, Bay," Dean muttered quietly. Brock also halfheartedly gestured and grunted something resembling an apology.

Bayley grinned. "Thank you." She pointed back to the equation before. "So, what if you need to buy wood to rebuild the missing part of your barn? And Home Depot only sells twelve foot planks of two by four wood for eight dollars each. If the amount of wood you need is divisible by twelve, you'll know exactly how much you need, right?"

Brock nodded, following the logic of his tutor.

"But what if you need to figure length times height for how much wood you need? And THEN figure out how many planks you need? Then you're solving variables. That's all algebra."

Brock scoffed and reached into the white paper to go bag next to Dean, pulling out another biscuit. He unwrapped the delicacy from its foil and took a giant bite.

"Dammit, Lesnar, that was for Roman," Dean protested.

"Fuck him," Lesnar immediately countered, mouth still of chicken biscuit. "He should get off his girlfriend for five seconds and get over here if he wants breakfast."

Ambrose and Bayley both chuckled. Brock wasn't wrong. Their friend, Roman Reigns, had been conspicuous by his absence since he'd begun dating Natalya Neidhart. She was a senior, a year older than Dean, Roman, and Bayley, and she'd monopolized his time since walking up to Roman last spring and more or less told him that he was taking her to her Junior Prom. She knew what she wanted, she went for it, and Roman was undeniably caught in her web. As a matter of fact, Roman and Natalya, or "Nattie," were currently just three parking spaces over from Dean's SUV, engaging in what Dean liked to call their "Monday morning makeout." Roman's mom didn't like how serious Natalya wanted to be with her baby boy, and so she'd forbidden him from seeing the voluptuous blonde during the week. As it often did, the restriction did nothing but stoke Roman's desire to spend time with his forbidden infatuation, and Roman had spent every Monday morning since the beginning of his relationship with Nattie rolling around on her backseat, their lips constantly engaged and their hands continuously roaming.

Dean let Bayley's soothing voice guide his train of thought back to the present.

"...yeah. Brock, you got this. Your problem is eighty percent mental. You can do this. You're smart. You had twenty three sacks in fifteen games last year. That takes smarts. If you get lost, just take a deep breath. Remember, we talked about all of this. Yeah?"

Brock nodded. "I know. Thanks Bayley." The giant flat-topped young man began stuffing papers and his math book into his backpack. "You gonna DJ my party after the game Friday?"

Bayley grinned and nodded vociferously. "Yeah. Can the band play?"

Brock sighed and shook his head slowly, before levelling his gaze at Dean. "I dunno, Bayley. Can they?"

Dean laughed, though it was mostly to keep from crying. "Dude. That was one time. And Seth has worked all summer to get better. If you let Elohssa rock your barn party Friday, I guarantee everyone has a great time."

Now it was Brock Lesnar's turn to shake his head. "I can't fucking believe you named your band the word 'asshole' backwards."

Bayley giggled. "I don't like it either, but Dean got shitfaced over the summer after Sasha dumped him and came up with it. We all felt too bad for him to tell him how shitty that name is."

Dean shook his head and gave Bayley and Brock the middle finger. "That name is not stupid. That name kicks ass." He paused his rant momentarily to glare at Bayley. "And she didn't dump me. It was mutual."

Bayley scoffed incredulously. "So y'all mutually agreed that she should suck that quarterback from Central's dick in the back row of the movie theatre?"

"Yeah, what was that kid's name?" Lesnar asked, pretending he didn't know.

"Adam Page," Dean muttered to himself. He wasn't actually all that sad to be rid of the girlfriend he'd put up with since second semester of Freshman year. He'd dated plenty over the summer, and actually had a really good time for most of the break with a girl from the next county over named Melina Perez. She, not Sasha, had swapped "v-cards" with the eager Ambrose during Blue River's Fourth of July celebration, but the two ended up calling their relationship off in mid August when it was clear that neither saw the relationship going further.

What bothered Ambrose, however, was the fact that Sasha cheated on him publicly. She'd made a fool of him and expected him to forgive her just because they'd had an argument the day before. She'd strode up to him, all smiles, and when he confronted her with the information he'd been given from a friend who'd seen Dean's supposed girlfriend enter an empty theatre with a rival suitor, she'd tried to laugh it off as a natural consequence of a "lover's quarrel." Dean saw the situation a bit differently,

"That's right! Adam Page," Brock crowed victoriously. "The very same Motherfucker we'll be seeing at this weeks game. Quarterbacking our opponents. I know you'll be extra anxious to whip his ass, Dean."

Ambrose nodded. He didn't really need any additional motivation to play hard. He loved football. But getting a measure of payback against that smirking, disease-ridden asswagon would make his efforts extra rewarding. He was playing all the scenarios out in his mind when he heard the back passenger door open.

"Thanks again, Bayley," Brock called quickly, sliding with a purpose out the open hatch. He briefly placed his massive hand on Dean's shoulder.

"Eat shit, Ambrose."

The smaller boy snickered in amusement.

"Only if you're mom's cooking, Lesnar." He stopped to make sure the vehicle's door was closed before adding "you big dumb motherfucker."

Bayley covered her mouth as she giggled. It still tickled her when her stepbrother cursed like that. Furthermore, Dean knew that, and so he often purposefully uttered phrases under his breath that would get a chuckle from her. Her train of thought course corrected, as it often did.

"Dean," she began, initiating a new line of communication, "why don't boys like me?"

"Boys love you, Bay," Dean responded, only half involved in the conversation.

"Nuh uh," the lovely latina countered, "I haven't been frenched since May."

Dean's face twisted into a mask of disgust. "Why do I need to know that?"

Bayley giggled, and was ready to respond, but both of the suv's occupants were distracted by a Blue River police car coming to a stop directly on the other side of the street of their vehicle.

Dean would always remember that first time he saw Alexa, because he would swear later that she just kind of elegantly unfolded from the passenger's seat of the black and white cruiser, and also because "6 Underground" by the SNEAKER PIMPS had just begun pulsing through the state of the art speakers adorning his Ford.

"Who the fuck is that?" Dean murmured, not caring that his stepsister could hear him. Bayley squinted slightly, unsure of who Dean was talking about. After a moment of pondering, her face lit up with recognition.

"That's Alexa! I met her over the summer at girl's open workouts. She just moved here."

Dean's face didn't change expression, but he peered over at his faux sibling, incredulous at her nonchalant nature. "You didn't think I'd want to know that a girl that looks like that-" he gestured wildly toward her as she walked toward the building, "is going to school here now? Holy shit."

The police roller gently coasted away, it's driver waiting to see that Alexa made it safely off the street and toward the school. Dean took another minute to fully process what he was seeing.

"She is…" He trailed off, trying to find the right word.

"Breathtaking?" Bayley cut in, as Dean nodded vociferously.

"You swinging both ways now, Bay?" Dean kidded.

"No!" Bayley shouted, offended by the assertion. "I'm just saying. From a purely objective standpoint, she's super hot." She watched, her smile growing, as Dean kept his eyes glued on the mysterious new blonde. "Dean has a crush!" She playfully punched her half brother on the shoulder. "You want me to talk to her for you? I heard she's in choir with us. I could get to know her there."

Deans first instinct was to refuse. Not because he didn't want Bayley to do exactly that, but because it was in his nature to deflect any outward appearance of attraction to a girl. Or, for that matter, any appearance that he might not believe that girl might not immediately be as into him as he was into her. The truth is, the incident with Sasha had deeply shaken his confidence. Where he once had a certain kind of dumb swagger, he now had a paper-thin bravado that hadn't yet been tested by Blue River High's complex and ruthless social scene.

"Uh, sure," he finally allowed, purposely slowing his train of thought down. "Just don't like...make it obvious."

Bayley giggled again, amused at the side of her stepbrother that so rarely showed itself.

"I'm serious," Ambrose continued. "Nothing obvious. Just something subtle, like 'that's my stepbrother Dean. As you can tell, he's ruggedly handsome. He enjoys candlelit dinners and long walks on the beach. He's also a gifted musician who feeds homeless dogs on weekends. I've also heard he has an enormous dong'..."

Bayley's laugh was more pronounced now. "You idiot," she finally choked out. "I'm not talking to her about the size of your...wang. That's weird."

Dean returned her bemused gaze with an incredulous one of his own. "It's not like we're related. I know you've seen the outline of my junk like a thousand times at dad's pool…"

He trailed off again as Bayley's laugh grew louder, before turning to groans of protest and mock revulsion. Deans unique repor with his youngest step sister was his favorite aspect of life at the moment, and her laugh soothed him, but he'd be lying if he claimed he didn't want her to follow through on her promise to get to know the mystery blonde who'd stride into the ordinarily mundane school and immediately set Dean's world upside down.

After another moment, the stepsiblings, brought together by a union neither asked for, gathered their belongings and reluctantly trudged into Blue River High School.


	11. Chapter 11

This story is going on hiatus. My wife and I miscarried our little girl a month or so ago, and it's very hard to write about dead little girls right now. I wanna say this story will be back at some point, but i dunno. Thanks for your support.


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